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THE RED LODGE 


BOOKS BY 
VICTOR BRIDGES 


Another Man’s Shoes 
Greensea Island: A Mystery 
of the Essex Coast 
Mr. Lyndon at Liberty 
Rogue by Compulsion 
The Cruise of the Scandal 
and Other Stories 
The Lady from Long Acre 
The Man from Nowhere 
The Red Lodge 





THE RED LODGE 

A Mystery of Campden Hill 
BY 

VICTOR BRIDGES 



GARDEN CITY NEW YORK 

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 
1924 











COPYRIGHT, I924, BY 
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES 
AT 

THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 


First Edition 

APR 10*24 

C1A778804 



ru $ n 




TO 

MARGARET 



THE RED LODGE 



THE RED LODGE 

A Mystery of Campden Hill 

CHAPTER ONE 

A dark green Rolls-Royce limousine slid round the 
corner of Sydney Place and, proceeding a few hundred 
yards along the Fulham Road, drew up in front of 
St. Christopher’s Hospital. It had scarcely stopped 
before the door opened and its solitary occupant— 
a tall, well-dressed man of about fifty—stepped out on 
to the pavement. 

“You can wait here, Simmons,” he said, addressing 
the chauffeur. “I shan’t be more than a few minutes.” 

The porter on duty, who was talking to a friend in 
the hall, touched his cap respectfully as the newcomer 
hurried past him in the direction of the main staircase. 

“See that bloke, Fred?” he whispered, jerking his 
thumb after the retreating figure. “That’s Sir George 
Onslow, that is. Some pore beggar’s for it, you can 
take my word.” 

“Well, thank Gawd ’e ain’t a-goin’ to ’ack me 
about,” returned the other. “Pack o’ butchers, all the 
lot of ’em, if they gets ’alf a chance.” 

Unconscious of having been the cause of this some¬ 
what drastic criticism of his profession, the famous 


2 


THE RED LODGE 


surgeon mounted rapidly to the second landing, where 
a long, bare, distempered corridor stretched away in 
either direction. Choosing the one on the left, he 
came to a halt in front of a white door, on which the 
two words “House Surgeon” were neatly painted in 
black letters, and, without troubling to knock, turned 
the handle and walked in. 

A broad-shouldered, cheerful-looking young man, 
who was sitting at the table reading a medical book, 
glanced up carelessly at his entrance. On seeing who 
the visitor was his expression changed, and with a cer¬ 
tain air of surprise he rose quickly to his feet. 

“Hullo, Sir George,” he exclaimed. “We weren’t 
expecting you this morning.” ' ; 

The elder man stepped forward and offered his 
hand. 

“Sorry to interrupt your studies, Gray,” he said, 
smiling. “This isn’t an official visit. I’ve just looked 
in on a little private and personal matter.” 

The young house surgeon pulled forward a tattered 
armchairT 

“Well, I’m delighted to see you, sir,” he said 
heartily. “Won’t you take a pew?” 

Sir George sat down, and, leaning forward, helped 
himself to a cigarette from the box which his compan¬ 
ion offered him. 

“You were telling me about your plans a week or 
two ago,” he said. “Have you come to any decision 
yet?” 

Gray, who was standing with his back to the fire¬ 
place, nodded his head. 


THE RED LODGE 


3 

“Yes,” he answered. “I’ve made up my mind to 
send in my resignation as soon as the secretary comes 
back. I can’t help feeling that I’m wasting my time 
here. I have always meant to go in for research 
work, and if I’m to do any good at it it’s quite time I 
started.” He laughed a little awkwardly. “I hope 
it doesn’t sound conceited talking like this, sir, but I 
really believe I’ve got a turn in that direction.” 

Sir George looked up at him with a friendly, half- 
quizzical twinkle in his eye. 

“You needn’t apologize, my boy,” he said gravely. 
“I don’t think any one would accuse you of having a 
swelled head.” He paused. ‘Tf*4t doesn’t sound an 
impertinent question, may I ask how you are situated 
with regard to money matters?” 

“I can manage all right,” replied the other. “I’ve 
got a small private income of about three hundred a 
year. I should have to give up the car, of course, but 
one can’t expect luxuries if one goes in for laboratory 
work.” 

Sir George nodded his head approvingly. 

“That’s the proper frame of mind, anyhow,” he 
observed. “There’s no half-and-half business about 
science. It’s a great game if you’re prepared to give 
up everything else to it, but if you want money and 
comfort and reputation—well, you’d better copy my 
example and spend your time cutting out the entrails 
of over-fed millionaires.” He flicked the ash off his 
cigarette, and, sinking back again in the chair, crossed 
his legs. “All the same,” h^-added, “it just happens 
that I might be able to put something in your way 


4 


THE RED LODGE 


which would make it possible for you to keep the car 
and hunt bugs at the same time.” 

Gray’s boyish face lit up with sudden interest. 

“By Jove, sir!” he exclaimed. “That sounds prom¬ 
ising!” 

“How would you like to go and live with old Carter 
as a sort of residential assistant?” 

“Carter?” Gray repeated the name almost rever¬ 
ently. “Do you mean Professor Carter?” 

“Of course I do. You don’t suppose I’m referring 
to the man who makes the liver pills?” 

“You can bet I should like it all right,” was the 
eager reply. “Why, it’s a chance for which any chap 
in my position would sell his soul.” 

The surgeon smiled again at his young companion’s 
enthusiasm. 

“Well, I think it might be arranged on less dramatic 
terms than that. As a matter of fact, I was talking to 
the old boy last night. He doesn’t often show up in 
public nowadays, but he happened to come along to a 
special meeting of the Board of Health, and he and I 
had a long yarn together. Amongst other things he 
asked me if I knew a young fellow who’d make a suit¬ 
able assistant. He wants someone to live in the house, 
and he told me that if he could find the right man he 
was prepared to pay a salary of four hundred a year. 
That, of course, would be in addition to living ex¬ 
penses.” 

“Four hundred a year!” echoed Gray in astonish¬ 
ment. 

“Oh, he can afford it well enough. He’s rolling in 


THE RED LODGE 


5 

money, and he never spends a bob on anything except 
his work.” 

“Why, he can take his pick amongst the best-trained 
men in England,” declared Gray. “They’d simply 
fall over themselves to get in with Carter, whether 
there’s a salary attached to it or not.” 

“That may be the case,” assented Sir George drily, 
“but, as it happens, very few of them possess the par¬ 
ticular qualification on which the Professor insists. 
You see, he wants someone who’s an expert boxer as 
well as being a fully qualified scientist.” 

Gray stared at his visitor in utter bewilderment. 

“Sounds a bit comic, doesn’t it?” pursued the latter 
tranquilly. “The fact is the old gentleman’s suffering 
from nerves. About nine weeks ago his house on 
Campden Hill was broken into by burglars, and ever 
since then he seems to have been living in a mortal 
funk that the same thing would happen again.” 

“But hasn’t he any one in the place besides himself?” 
demanded Gray. 

“Only a couple of women who cook for him and 
look after the house. He had an old servant for 
about forty years, but I think he’s pensioned him 
off. Of course, it really isn’t very safe as things are. 
Carter must be over eighty, and the Red Lodge is a 
devilish lonely place, shut in behind a high wall 
amongst a lot of trees. I don’t wonder he feels a bit 
jumpy.” 

“But is he quite serious about wanting an assistant?” 
demanded Gray. “At present it sounds as if he were 
in more need of a bull-dog.” 


6 


THE RED LODGE 


Sir George laughed. “It’s a genuine enough offer,” 
he said. “He confided to me that he’d just undertaken 
some very important researches, and that it was abso¬ 
lutely necessary he should have a first-class man to 
help him. I thought of you at once. I said all the 
complimentary things I could about your work, and I 
added, as a sort of little extra inducement, that you’d 
won the inter-hospital heavyweight boxing competition 
for two years in succession.” 

Gray coloured modestly. “It was awfully good of 
you, Sir George,” he replied. 

“Not at all,” was the answer. “In my opinion he’ll 
be very lucky if he gets you. I told him I’d look you 
up and see how you felt about it, and that if you liked 
the idea I’d let him know some time to-day.” 

“I shall be ready to go directly I can get away from 
the hospital,” declared Gray. 

Sir George Onslow threw away the stump of his 
cigarette and rose to his feet. 

“I don’t think there will be any difficulty about that. 
I’ll speak to the chairman personally, and if Carter 
wants you at once we can easily find someone to carry 
on until the secretary comes back.” He glanced at his 
watch. “I must be running along now. I’ve got to 
be at the nursing home by twelve-thirty.” 

After expressing his gratitude once more, Gray 
accompanied his visitor down to the hall, where he 
remained standing on the steps until the car drove 
away. He was just turning back toward the stair¬ 
case when the porter, who was engaged with the tele¬ 
phone, thrust his head out of the box. 


THE RED LODGE 


7 

“Gen’leman wants to speak to you, sir—a Mister 
Ashton.” 

Gray walked forward and picked up the receiver. 

“Hullo!” he observed encouragingly. 

“Hullo!” came the answer. “That you, Colin?” 

“Of course it’s me.” 

“Mark speaking—Mark Ashton. Are you engaged 
for lunch?” 

“Not if I can get any one else to pay for it,” was 
the candid reply. 

“Well, how would you like to come along and feed 
with me at the Savoy Grill?” 

“I’ve no particular objection. What’s the matter? 
Have you come into money?” 

There was a chuckle at the other end of the wire. 

“Nothing like that. Just a sudden thirst for your 
society.” 

“It shall be gratified,” said Gray. “What time 
shall I show up?” 

“One o’clock. Suit you all right?” 

“Excellently.” 

“That’ll do, then. If you get there first order your¬ 
self a cocktail.” 

The speaker rang off, and, replacing the receiver, 
Gray glanced at his watch. 

It was a few minutes past twelve, and, being the 
day on which he was off duty, there was nothing to 
prevent him leaving the hospital as soon as he pleased. 
The prospect of a two-mile walk before lunch dis¬ 
tinctly appealed to him, so, remounting the stairs to his 
small bedroom at the top of the building, he proceeded 


8 


THE RED LODGE 


to change out of his white surgeon’s kit into something 
a little more in harmony with the best traditions of a 
fashionable restaurant. 

At exactly five minutes to one he passed through 
the revolving glass door of the Savoy and entered the 
already crowded lounge. Before he had time to glance 
round, a man, who had been sitting in the farther 
corner, rose to his feet and came forward to meet 
him. 

No one, not even a newspaper reporter, would have 
called Mark Ashton handsome. In spite of his 
roughly cut features, his untidy hair, his badly fitting 
frock coat, and his large gold-rimmed spectacles there 
was, however, such a genuine and friendly air about 
his whole appearance that anybody except a fool would 
have been attracted by him at once. Somehow or 
other he reminded one of a large, shaggy, good- 
tempered dog. 

He came up to Gray and shook him heartily by the 
hand. 

“This is splendid, Colin,” he said. “I’m awfully 
glad you were able to manage it.” 

“So am I,” returned his guest. “It would have 
broken my heart to refuse an invitation like this.” 

Mark grinned broadly, and, thrusting his arm 
through his companion’s, piloted him across the lounge 
in the direction of the grill-room door. 

“I’ve ordered a table,” he announced, “so unless 
you’d rather wait a bit we may as well have lunch 
right away.” 

“That will suit me,” said Colin cheerfully. “X 


THE RED LODGE 


9 

breakfasted at eight, and I’ve just walked up from the 
hospital.” 

Following an obsequious gentleman, who apparently 
recognized Mark, they threaded their way through the 
room and took their places at a small table in the op¬ 
posite corner, which looked out into the courtyard. 

Mark picked up the menu and studied it with some 
care. 

“What do you say about oysters to start with?” he 
suggested. “A dozen oysters each and a bottle of 
Chablis?” 

“It’s a good idea,” admitted Colin. “Especially 
the Chablis.” 

“We can discuss what we’ll have afterward while 
we’re eating them,” continued his host. He gave the 
order, and, as the waiter departed, he sat back in his 
chair and took a genial survey of the restaurant. 

“What is the precise meaning of this debauch?” in¬ 
quired Colin. “Is it your birthday or have you been 
backing the winner of the Cesarewitch?” 

The other laughed good-naturedly. “I told you 
over the telephone. It’s just a case of a hard-working 
East End doctor snatching a brief interval from his 
practice to enjoy the society of his most brilliant and 
distinguished pupil.” He paused. “As a matter of 
fact,” he added, “the whole thing was Mary’s notion. 
I wanted to have a talk with you, and she suggested 
that I should take a couple of hours off and invite you 
to lunch.” 

“Mary’s a great woman,” said Colin with feeling. 
“Why didn’t you bring her along with you?” 


IO 


THE RED LODGE 


“She’s stopped behind to console the patients. I 
shall have scores of ’em hanging round the surgery 
when I get back.” He sighed heavily. 

“Well, cheer up,” said Colin. “By the time we’ve 
finished lunch they’ll probably be dead.” He helped 
himself to a roll, and, breaking off a bit of the crust, 
proceeded to nibble it thoughtfully. “What did you 
want to see me about?” he inquired. 

Mark paused, while two waiters, who had suddenly 
appeared with the oysters and the Chablis, hovered 
round the table, intent on their ministrations. 

“It’s nothing much,” he replied eventually. “I was 
wondering if by any chance you could find me a girl.” 

“Find you a girl?” echoed Colin. “Why, you old 
Mormon, you’ve got Mary already.” 

“That’s just the trouble,” was the depressed answer. 
“Mary has to go off to Lincoln for a month to nurse 
her mother. After next Wednesday I shall be a 
grass widower.” 

Colin looked at him with genuine sympathy. “My 
poor lad!” he exclaimed. “This is indeed a blow!” 

“It’s worse than that,” observed his companion. 
“It’s—it’s a damned knock-out. She’s never been 
away from me for more than a day, not since we went 
down to Shadwell. Heaven only knows how I shall 
get on without her. She answers the letters, keeps the 
accounts, pays the bills, mixes the medicines-” 

“In fact,” broke in Colin, “to put it plainly, she’s a 
darn sight more important to the business than you 
are.” He speared a recalcitrant oyster and sprinkled 
it with red pepper. “I wonder you let her go,” 



THE RED LODGE 


ii 


lie added mischievously. “Why don’t you take up 
the strong, silent husband stunt and refuse to allow 

it?” 

“Oh, I can’t do that,” objected Mark. “You see, 
the old lady really is very seedy. She’s going to have 
an operation in about a month’s time, and meanwhile 
she’s got to keep to her bed. She’s simply set her 
heart on having Mary to come and look after her, and 
I couldn’t be such an utterly selfish pig as to go and 
put any difficulties in the way.” 

“No, I don’t suppose you could,” admitted Colin. 
“That sort of thing requires a lot of practice.” 

“We’ve talked it over,” continued Mark, “and we’ve 
decided that the best plan would be to try and find 
some nice, sensible girl who’d come in for the day and 
make herself generally useful. Of course, it isn’t ex¬ 
actly easy to get hold of the right person. I want a 
really capable, honest, pleasant girl, who can type and 
keep accounts, and who’ll take a kind of personal in¬ 
terest in the whole show.” 

“You don’t want much,” observed Colin drily. 

“Well, I’m prepared to pay for it, and if she turned 
out to be any use I’d keep her on permanently. I’ve 
been meaning to do something of the sort for the last 
six months. Mary’s been working far too hard, and 
I’m making such a sinful amount of money I can quite 
well afford a little extra help.” He pushed away his 
empty oyster shells and beckoned to the waiter. 
“We’d better order some more grub, eh? Can you 
manage a cold grouse?” 

“With ease,” said Colin. 


12 


THE RED LODGE 


He remained silent until the man had departed, and 
then, picking up the Chablis, refilled his glass. 

“But where do I come in?” he inquired. “You’re 
not expecting me to produce angels out of my waist¬ 
coat pocket?” 

“We thought you might be able to recommend 
somebody. Mary said that a young, dashing, good- 
looking fellow like you-” 

“She was pulling your leg,” protested Colin. “She 
knows perfectly well that I’m terrified of girls.” 

“How about the hospital? Haven’t you a pretty, 
intelligent nurse who’d like a nice Christian home?” 

“I’ve never noticed her if we have.” He paused 
as the recollection of his conversation with Sir George 
Onslow suddenly flashed into his mind. “By Jove!” 
he added. “That reminds me. I haven’t told you 
my great news yet. I’m chucking the hospital and 
going as bottle-washer to old Carter.” 

His companion stared at him half incredulously. 

“Is this a fact?” he demanded. 

“Well, it’s practically settled. I’ve had nothing to 
do with it really; Onslow’s worked the whole thing 
for me. I’d just finished talking to him when you rang 
up.” 

In a few words he described his interview with Sir 
George and the curious information which the latter 
had given him with regard to the professor’s require¬ 
ments. 

“I can’t say if I shall fit the bill,” he added, laugh¬ 
ing, “but if the old boy takes a fancy to me I don’t 
care how many damned burglars he has. I’d tackle 



THE RED LODGE 


i3 

half a dozen a night for the sake of being his 
assistant.” 

“It’s a wonderful chance,” admitted Mark thought¬ 
fully. “Carter may be a little queer, but there’s no 
doubt that he’s the greatest man at his game in the 
world.” He looked across rather wistfully into the 
strong, smiling face opposite him. “You’re a fortunate 
young devil, Colin,” he added. “Nature’s presented 
you with practically everything a man can want— 
brains, good looks, and the strength of a cart-horse— 
and now I’m hanged if you’re not going to be lucky as 
well. I’d have given my head for an opening like 
this when I was your age. Just fancy being able to 
devote one’s life to science instead of wasting it in the 
futile way I’ve done.” 

“You’re talking through your hat,” protested Colin 
indignantly. “If you chose you could be sitting in 
an armchair in Harley Street, but instead of that you 
and Mary live down there in Shadwell and sweat your 
souls out amongst the poorest of the poor. Don’t 
you call that good work?” 

“Splendid,” agreed Mark. “Stuffing ’em up with 
coloured water and ginger pills and making fifteen 
hundred a year out of the poor blighters for doing 
it.” He smiled with a cheerful good nature that was 
rather out of keeping with his words. “I’m not 
envious, Colin. I’m only too delighted to know that 
you’ve found the right opening. Two or three years’ 
experience with Carter will be simply invaluable to 
you. It will put you in the very front rank of investi¬ 
gators, and what’s more, it will give you the oppor- 


H 


THE RED LODGE 


tunity of carrying on his work after he’s dead. You’ll 
be a great man before you’ve finished. When I’m an 
old buffer of eighty I shall probably go around brag¬ 
ging that the famous Sir Colin Gray was once my 
junior house surgeon at Bart’s.” 

“Always supposing,” added the future celebrity, 
“that I’m not knocked on the head by a burglar.” He 
rolled up a bread pill and eyed his host meditatively. 
“It’s a rummy affair, the whole business,” he continued. 
“I wonder if there’s anything behind it? D’you think 
Carter’s just got the wind up, or d’you think he’s one 
of those old juggins who keeps thousands of pounds 
buried in the back cellar?” 

Mark shrugged his shoulders. “Goodness knows,” 
he replied. “Anyhow, he ought to be safe enough 
with you. If I were a self-respecting burglar with a 
proper regard for my appearance I should give the 
Red Lodge a devilish wide berth. I know that right 
upper-cut of yours; I’ve had some of it.” 

The appearance of the grouse at this point created 
a temporary diversion, and it was not until lunch was 
finished, and the two of them were sitting over their 
coffee and cigars, that Mark returned to his original 
subject. 

“You won’t forget, will you,” he said, “if you run 
across a likely damsel. I shall be absolutely in the 
soup unless I get hold of somebody the next day or 
two.” 

“I’ll do my best for you,” Colin assured him. “I’ll 
have a general inspection of all the nurses at the 
hospital to-morrow morning, and if there’s a stray 


THE RED LODGE 


15 


angel amongst them I’ll send her along. I shouldn’t 
bank on it though, not from what I remember of 
them.” 

Mark pulled out his note case and beckoned to the 
waiter. 

“I must be off,” he observed resentfully. “Which 
way are you going—back to the hospital?” 

Colin shook his head. “This is my day out. I shall 
roll along to the garage and spend a nice messy after¬ 
noon tinkering at the car. There are several odd jobs 
that want doing, and I should like to get them cleared 
off before I start chasing burglars.” 

Mark paid the bill, and, leaving the restaurant, the 
two friends walked together as far as Charing Cross 
Underground, where they came to a halt on the bridge 
inside the barrier. 

“Well, thanks for an excellent lunch,” said Colin, 
shaking his host’s hand. “Remember that if you ever 
want my advice it’s always available on the same 
terms.” 

Mark grinned. “You must come down and thank 
Mary,” he said. “It was she who suggested the 
Savoy. If it had been left to me I should probably 
have taken you to Lockhart’s.” 

As he spoke an East End train clanked noisily out 
of the opposite tunnel, and with a hurried good-bye he 
darted away toward the steps and disappeared from 
view. 

About twenty minutes later, with the stump of a 
cigar in his mouth, and feeling remarkably at peace 
with the world, Colin emerged from Sloane Street 


THE RED LODGE 


16 

Station and strolled across the pavement in the direc¬ 
tion of the barracks. 

He kept his car in a small garage at the bottom of 
Church Street, a place which, in addition to being 
cheap and within easy reach of the hospital, also 
possessed the unusual distinction of having an honest 
proprietor. It was about three-quarters of a mile 
from the Square, but as he was in no hurry, and the 
weather was extraordinarily genial for an afternoon 
in late November, he dismissed his first intention of 
taking a motor bus and started off at a leisurely pace 
along the King’s Road. 

He had got as far as the corner of Radnor Street 
when his progress was suddenly arrested by a muffled 
outbreak of shouts and oaths. The next moment the 
door of a small public house opposite burst violently 
open, and from its gas-lit interior a tangled cluster of 
struggling men swayed out into the main thoroughfare. 
One of them was evidently a policeman, for his blue 
helmet was clearly visible in the centre of the melee. 

For a second or two the whole mass reeled back¬ 
ward and forward, then a stick swung up into the 
air, and, coming down with crashing force on the back 
of the constable’s head, stretched him out an inert 
mass in the gutter. 


CHAPTER TWO 


However underpaid it may be, the training of a 
house surgeon at a London hospital induces a certain 
readiness of action. Before any of the other passers- 
by had ceased to gape helplessly at this unusual spec¬ 
tacle Colin was halfway across the street. 

Quick as he was, however, the situation had already 
developed. A big, burly man, clutching another by 
the collar, had staggered back against the wall of the 
pub, where, with his disengaged arm, he was endeav¬ 
ouring to defend himself as best he could against a 
rain of blows and kicks. 

Striking out mercilessly right and left, Colin forced 
his way through the gang. He was only just in time, 
for exactly as he arrived a vicious kick in the ribs sent 
the big stranger sprawling to the pavement, his fingers 
still gripping the collar of his half-throttled prisoner. 

The man who had laid him out—a truculent-looking 
scoundrel in a blue suit—was stepping in to complete 
his work when a smashing swing from Colin caught 
him full in the mouth. Reeling back from the blow, 
he collided violently with one of his friends, and for 
a second the whole attacking party were thrown into 
confusion. 

Before they could recover the shrill note of a police 
17 


i8 


THE RED LODGE 


whistle rang out close behind them. They all spun 
round instinctively, and through a gap in their ranks 
Colin caught sight of the slim figure of a girl stooping 
over the prostrate body of the constable. It was 
only a brief glimpse, for the next moment one of the 
ruffians sprang backward and lashed out at her with 
his belt. Dropping the whistle, she sank forward on 
to her knees, and with a wild, clattering rush the entire 
gang took to their heels. 

In two strides Colin was at the girl’s side. He was 
not easily upset, but the sight of that cowardly blow 
had filled him with such a sudden wave of fury that 
he found it difficult to control his voice as he bent 
down over the crouching figure. 

“Are you much hurt?” he asked. 

She raised her head, and a pair of beautiful but 
rather bewildered blue eyes looked up into his. 

“No,” she said. “I don’t think I am. Is it all 
over?” 

In spite of his anger Colin began to laugh. 

“Yes,” he added, “it’s all over. They’ve bolted like 
a lot of rabbits, thanks to you.” 

He took her by the arm, and a trifle unsteadily, 
she scrambled to her feet. 

“How do you feel?” he asked with some anxiety. 
“I was horribly afraid he’d hit you on the head.” 

“So he did,” was the answer, “but luckily for me 
I’ve got a good deal of protection.” 

She lifted off the small velvet hat that she was 
wearing and rather tenderly patted the thick coils 
of dark red hair which gleamed like copper in the 


THE RED LODGE 


19 


fading November sunlight. “The queer thing is,” she 
added, “that it hasn’t even given me a headache.” 

“I wish I’d known you were all right,” said Colin 
ruefully. “I’d have gone after the brute and wrung 
his neck.” 

“You didn’t do so badly as it was, mister,” ob¬ 
served a voice at his elbow, and, turning round sharply, 
he found himself face to face with the burly stranger, 
whom he had last seen scuffling on the pavement. 
Except for a slight trickle of blood from the corner 
of his mouth the latter looked none the worse for his 
adventures. 

“I owe something both to you and to this young 
lady,” he continued. “If you hadn’t come along just 
when you did I’d probably have got my head kicked 
in.” 

“You needn’t thank me,” protested Colin. “There’s 
nothing I enjoy better than a good scrap.” 

He glanced round the late field of battle with a cer¬ 
tain amount of amused curiosity. Three fresh and 
energetic-looking policemen had already appeared. 
One of them was grasping the arm of the now hand¬ 
cuffed prisoner, a second knelt beside the body of his 
injured comrade, while the third, with that scant cere¬ 
mony which distinguishes the Metropolitan force, was 
thrusting back a rapidly increasing throng of inter¬ 
ested spectators. 

“What’s it all about?” asked Colin. 

Rummaging in his waistcoat pocket, the big man 
produced a dilapidated card. 

“You’ll see my name there,” he said. “Inspector 


20 


THE RED LODGE 


Marsden of the C. I. D.” He jerked his head in the 
direction of the captive—a short, sandy-haired individ¬ 
ual with a face like a rather disagreeable ferret. 
“You’ve helped us to get hold of a gentleman we’ve 
been wanting badly at the Yard for the last two 
months. That’s ‘Ginger Dick,’ the leader of the 
toughest race-course gang in England.” 

“He must be fairly popular with his friends,” ob¬ 
served Colin. “At least, they seemed quite anxious 
not to lose his society.” 

The Inspector smiled grimly. “You don’t know 
’em, sir. You can take it from me that all they’re 
worrying about is whether he’s going to split on ’em. 
There isn’t a man in that crowd who wouldn’t sell 
his own mother.” He moved over to the second 
constable, who was still busy with his unconscious mate. 
“What’s the damage?” he asked. “Anything serious?” 

Colin stepped across after him. “You’d better let 
me have a look,” he said. “I’m a doctor.” 

The two men at once made way, and, kneeling down 
in the gutter, he rapidly examined his patient’s con¬ 
dition. 

“You must get him to hospital as quick as you 
can,” he said, looking up at the Inspector. “He’s 
had a pretty bad crack on the head, and the sooner 
he’s under treatment the better.” He rose to his feet 
and brushed off the dust from his trousers. “Take 
him along to St. Christopher’s,” he added. “Tell 
them that Doctor Gray sent you, and that it’s a case 
which requires immediate attention.” 

The Inspector nodded, and, having despatched one 


THE RED LODGE 


21 


of his assistants to fetch an ambulance, turned back 
and addressed himself to the girl. 

“You’ll pardon me for not having thanked you 
before, miss,” he said. “I never saw anything pluckier 
in my life than the way you chipped in and blew that 
whistle. There’s not one young lady in a thousand 
who’d have had the nerve to do it.” 

The recipient of his praises coloured delicately. 

“If you don’t mind,” he continued, “I’ll make a note 
of your name and address. We might be glad of your 
evidence, and I know the commissioner would like to 
write you a little letter to send you his official thanks.” 

“Oh, he mustn’t trouble to do that,” objected the 
girl hastily. “I’m sure he’s frightfully busy, and, after 
all, it’s quite easy just to blow a whistle.” 

Colin laughed. “You can’t get out of it,” he said. 
“Still, if you’ll tell the Inspector your name and where 
you live I don’t suppose he’ll bother you to give evi¬ 
dence unless it’s absolutely necessary.” 

“You can count on that, miss,” remarked the other 
reassuringly. 

“Well, I live just round the corner at No. 46 Jubilee 
Place,” said the girl, “and my name’s Seymour—Miss 
Nancy Seymour.” 

The Inspector committed this information to an 
official-looking pocketbook, and then held out his 
hand to Colin. 

“I shan’t forget that you’ve saved my life, doctor,” 
he said. “I hope that next time you’re up in our 
direction you’ll look in and pay us a visit.” He paused. 
“And remember,” he added, “that if there’s ever any 


22 


THE RED LODGE 


little way in which we can be of use to you, you’ve only 
got to let us know. We like to pay our debts at the 
Yard when we get the opportunity.” 

“I shall remember,” said Colin, smiling. “It might 
come in handy one of these days.” 

He stepped forward as a movement amongst the 
onlookers heralded the approach of the ambulance, 
and, after assisting to lift the injured constable inside, 
came back to where the girl was standing. 

“Can I see you as far as your house?” he asked. 
“I don’t suppose any of those blackguards are still 
hanging about, but there’s no point in running risks.” 

“Thank you,” she said simply. “I should be very 
grateful if you would.” 

Under a fire of curious glances they pushed their 
way through the crowd and started off along the pave* 
ment in the direction of Jubilee Place 

Colin was the first to break the silence. 

“Where did you spring from?” he asked. “I never 
saw you until you blew the whistle.” 

“I had just come out to buy a stamp,” replied his 
companion. “I was walking peacefully along to King’s 
Road when I suddenly found myself right in the mid¬ 
dle of it.” 

“Well, you’ve got some pluck,” said Colin admir¬ 
ingly. “That Inspector was quite right in what he 
said. Most girls would have given a shriek and 
flopped down in the gutter.” 

She coloured again in the same attractive fashion 
as before. 

“It wasn’t a question of pluck,” she objected. “I 


THE RED LODGE 


23 


acted entirely from impulse. If I had had time to 
think I should probably have done what you say.” 
She stopped short with a little gesture of annoyance. 
“Oh dear, how stupid I am! I’ve quite forgotten to 
buy the stamp after all.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” said Colin. “I’ve got one in 
my pocket I can let you have.” 

They turned up a narrow street with some white 
buildings on one side of it, and at the door of the 
second house the girl halted. 

“This is where I live,” she said. “It was awfully 
kind of you to walk back with me.” 

“Not a bit,” said Colin. “I’m very fond of a little 
gentle exercise.” He pulled out a note-case and began 
to search through its various compartments. “If you’ll 
wait half a minute,” he added, “I’ll see if I can find 
you that stamp.” 

She stood watching him with a certain look of in¬ 
decision in her face. 

“I don’t know if you’d care to come in,” she said 
rather hesitatingly. “I have only got a small studio, 
but I can at least offer you a cup of tea.” 

Colin unearthed the stamp and presented it to her 
in triumph. 

“If you’re quite certain I shan’t be a nuisance,” he 
said, “I should like it immensely. Fighting in the 
street always gives me a thirst.” 

Miss Nancy Seymour’s blue eyes twinkled merrily, 
and, inserting a Yale key into the lock, she led the way 
up a small winding staircase to a door on the first 
landing. 


24 


THE RED LODGE 


“You mustn’t mind if it’s not very tidy,” she re¬ 
marked apologetically. “I have been typing all the 
morning, and I’ve not had time to put things straight.” 

She opened the door, and, following her inside, 
Colin found himself in an oddly shaped but rather 
attractive apartment, the principal feature of which 
was a big glass skylight, shaped like a coach-house 
roof. 

The furniture was scanty, consisting chiefly of a low, 
comfortable-looking couch, a couple of old Windsor 
armchairs, and a stout deal table which at some re¬ 
mote period had evidently been stained brown. On the 
latter stood a typewriter flanked by a litter of loose 
sheets and several piles of badly written manuscript. 

The farther corner of the room was curtained off, 
as though to serve the purpose of a kitchen or bed¬ 
room. 

With a wave of her hand Nancy indicated the couch. 
“Try my patent sofa,” she said hospitably. “I’ll tidy 
up while the kettle’s boiling.” 

“Don’t do it for me,” protested Colin. “I like to 
see a room a little topsy-turvy. You can’t think how 
refreshing it seems after the suffocating neatness of a 
hospital.” 

“I’ll put away these horrible manuscripts at all 
events,” returned his hostess. “I’ve been working at 
them ever since nine o’clock. The mere sight of them 
makes me feel ill.” 

“What are they?” inquired Colin. 

She made as near an approach to a grimace as 
nature would allow. 


THE RED LODGE 


25 

“Stories. And such bad ones! I think that all the 
worst authors in the world must live in Chelsea.” 

“It was rather unkind to type them out,” observed 
Colin. “Somebody will probably have to read them 
now.” 

Nancy laughed. “Unfortunately,” she said, “it 
happens to be my profession.” 

She covered up the typewriter and collected all the 
papers into an indiscriminate bundle. 

“I sha’n’t be long,” she added, moving away toward 
the curtain. “Make yourself comfortable, and please 
smoke if you want to.” 

Accepting both these invitations, Colin lighted a 
cigarette and took up a restful position on the couch. 
He felt curiously at home, considering the novelty of 
his surroundings, but the whole affair had been so 
unusual that somehow or other this impromptu tea 
party seemed to constitute a natural and appropriate 
climax. 

That it would also turn out to be an extremely en¬ 
tertaining one he had no manner of doubt. Whoever 
Miss Nancy Seymour might be, she was certainly the 
most attractive girl he had ever met in his life. Her 
looks alone were sufficient to arouse anybody’s enthu¬ 
siasm. With her vividly coloured hair and almost 
forget-me-not blue eyes she possessed that sort of in¬ 
spiriting beauty which Rossetti in his healthier and 
happier moments would have revelled in painting. 

But, delightful as Colin found her appearance, there 
was something still more fascinating to him in the 
unaffected simplicity and friendliness of her manner. 


26 


THE RED LODGE 


What he had said to Mark about his knowledge of 
women was perfectly true. As a medical student he 
had worked exceptionally hard, and this fact, com¬ 
bined with his devotion to football and boxing, had 
left him little time to cultivate any of those semi- 
amorous friendships which seem to be the principal 
hobby of so many budding physicians. It was, in fact, 
the first time that he had ever been perfectly at ease 
in a girl’s society, and the sensation was so pleasing 
that he felt no objection to its indefinite extension. 

He could hear Nancy moving about behind the cur¬ 
tain, the pop of a gas ring and the chink of cups 
giving some clue to the nature of her activities. Six 
or seven minutes must have elapsed, however, before 
she made her reappearance, this time carrying a tray 
with all the necessary equipment for tea. She had 
discarded her hat and coat, and in her simple indoor 
costume Colin thought that she looked prettier than 
ever. 

“Don’t get up,” she said, as he started to rise to 
his feet. “I’ll bring over that other little table and 
then we can help ourselves.” 

Suiting the action to the word, she deposited the 
tray on the end of the sofa, and pulled up a sort of 
rickety three-legged stool which looked like the final 
effort of some disillusioned amateur carpenter. 

“It’s all rather primitive,” she continued, “but you 
must pretend not to notice. You see, I’ve had to 
furnish the place myself, and I’ve never yet had enough 
money to do it properly.” 

Colin looked round with a contented eye. “I don’t 


THE RED LODGE 


27 

see what more you want,” he observed, “not unless 
you’re naturally luxurious.” 

“I expect that must be it,” she replied, pouring out 
the tea. “Anyhow, I know that directly I can afford 
it I mean to buy some new curtains and also a nice 
thick velvety carpet from Harrod’s.” She smiled. 
“That won’t be for some time though—not unless 
there’s a boom in bad stories.” 

“If it isn’t an impertinent question,” said Colin, 
“how long have you been in Chelsea?” 

“About eighteen months,” she answered, handing 
him his cup. “I had always lived in the country be¬ 
fore then, but there were reasons why I had to start 
work of some sort, and typing was the only useful 
thing I happened to know. Somebody told me that 
Chelsea was full of authors, so I came here, and here 
I’ve been ever since.” 

Colin helped himself to a sugared biscuit. “I hope 
you charge them a lot,” he said, “and I hope they pay 
regularly.” 

“It might be worse,” she replied. “As it happens, 
I’ve got enough money of my own to pay the rent of 
the studio, and what I make out of my typing just 
keeps me going in clothes and food and cigarettes.” 
She paused to refill the teapot. “It’s just the feeling 
that I’m wasting my time so,” she continued, “that 
annoys me. If I were working at something really 
useful I should be quite happy, but this stuff”—she 
made a distasteful gesture toward the table—“well, I 
can’t think how anybody can possibly write it, let alone 
read it.” 


28 


THE RED LODGE 


Colin suddenly slapped his leg with a bang which 
made the china rattle. 

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “Why, of course, you’re 
the very girl!” 

He laid down his cup .and gazed at her in a kind of 
triumphant satisfaction. 

Nancy returned his inspection /with a perplexed 
smile. “I daresay I am,” she admitted. “It’s rather 
hard to tell at present, isn’t it?” 

Colin laughed. “I’m not mad,” he explained. “If 
you meant what you said just now, if you’re really 
looking out for something that’s worth doing, I can 
put you on to a job straight away.” 

There was a moment’s silence. 

“It’s very nice of you,” said Nancy. “The only 
question is that I should probably be quite unqualified 
for it.” 

“On the contrary,” retorted Colin, “you’re the exact 
person that I’ve been commissioned to find.” 

“It must be a queer sort of job then,” remarked 
Nancy, still smiling. “All you know about me at 
present is that I can type, make tea, and blow a police 
whistle.” 

“Well, there you are,” observed her guest. “It’s 
just that all-round sort of ability that Mark wants.” 

He sat back against the wall, and, without any 
further delay, proceeded to enter into a full descrip¬ 
tion of the distressing problem which overhung the 
Shadwell menage. 

“If you’ll chip in and fill the gap,” he continued, 
“you’ll be doing a real Christian act. Mark jeers at 


THE RED LODGE 


29 


his own work, but, as a matter of cold fact, he and 
Mary have buried themselves down in that beastly 
slum out of sheer good nature. They’re the sort of 
people you don’t meet twice in a lifetime. Mark’s a 
brick, and Mary’s just the sweetest and most unselfish 
woman that ever trod this earth.” 

“They sound perfect dears,” said Nancy. “I should 
love to know them whether I get the job or not.” 

“Get the job!” repeated Colin. “Why, good Lord, 
they’ll simply be all over you as soon as you show 
yourself.” 

Nancy’s blue eyes gleamed merrily. “You seem to 
forget, Doctor Gray,” she said, “everybody isn’t quite 
so rapid and trustful as you are. They might, for in¬ 
stance, like to know something about me first.” 

“Well, you can tell ’em,” replied Colin. “You 
haven’t been in prison, have you, or anything of 
that sort? Not that Mark would mind a bit if you 
had.” 

“What a nice, obliging man!” was the answer. “No, 
I haven’t been in prison, and I don’t think I’ve ever 
done anything to deserve it. All the same, if any one 
offered me an engagement they would have to take me 
absolutely on trust. You see, I have never earned a 
salary before, so I’ve got no testimonials.” 

“Yes, you have,” objected Colin. “You’ve got 
mine and the policeman’s. That ought to be enough 
for any reasonable employer.” He glanced at his 
watch. “Look here,” he added eagerly, “if you’re 
doing nothing in particular, why shouldn’t we go down 
there straight away? Mark usually takes half an hour 


30 


THE RED LODGE 


off for tea about four o’clock, so we should just catch 
them at the right time.” 

“How does one get to Shadwell?” asked Nancy. 
“I don’t even know where it is.” 

Colin jumped up briskly. “I’ll drive you down,” 
he said. “I’ve got a little car in Church Street. I 
was just going along there to do some repairs.” 

Nancy made a movement of protest. “Oh, but, 

please-” she said. “I don’t want to take up all 

your afternoon—not if you’re busy.” 

“That’s all right,” observed Colin. “You shove on 
your hat and coat. I shall have plenty of time to 
tinker at the car when we get back.” 

With an air of resigned amusement Nancy rose to 
her feet. 

“I am trusting entirely to you, Doctor Gray,” she 
said. “If your friends throw me out ignominiously I 
sha’n’t be the least surprised.” 

She collected the tea things, and, crossing the room 
to the farther corner, disappeared again behind the 
curtain. 

After a surprisingly short interval she returned, 
ready dressed for the journey. 

“You look ripping,” said Colin, eyeing her with 
frank approval. “I’m longing to see old Mark’s face 
when he hears you’re his new secretary.” 

“Well, it’s more than I am,” remarked Nancy. 

She paused for a second or two to make a final in¬ 
spection of herself in the looking glass, and then, fol¬ 
lowing her guest out on to the landing, closed and 
locked the door behind her. 



THE RED LODGE 


3i 


They descended the staircase and were just emerg¬ 
ing into the street when a big white Daimler swung 
into view round the corner of the King’s Road. 

Nancy uttered a little exclamation which sounded 
like one of annoyance, but before she could speak the 
driver turned in toward the pavement and drew up 
alongside of them. He proved to be a tall, clean¬ 
shaven, middle-aged man, with rather dissipated blue 
eyes. 

“Hullo, young lady,” he said, raising his hat, “where 
are you off to? I was coming along to take you out 
for a drive.” 

Nancy acknowledged his greeting without any ap¬ 
parent enthusiasm. 

“It was very kind of you,” she replied, “ but I am 
afraid I can’t manage it to-day. I have promised to 
go out to tea with some friends of Doctor Gray’s.” 
She paused for a moment, and then glanced hesitat¬ 
ingly from one to the other of them. “Let me intro¬ 
duce you,” she added. “Doctor Gray—Major Fenton.” 

The two men nodded to each other. 

“It will do you much more good to come for a 
spin,” persisted the new arrival. “Besides, I under¬ 
stood that we more or less fixed it up last Thursday.” 

“Did we?” said Nancy coolly. “I don’t remember 
actually mentioning the day.” 

“Well, I understood so anyhow,” returned the 
other. He leaned across and opened the door. “Come 
along,” he added persuasively. “I am sure Doctor 
Gray will excuse you.” 

“I have no doubt he would,” said Nancy, “but, as 


3 2 


THE RED LODGE 


it happens, I particularly want to meet his friends.” 
She held out a small gloved hand, which the other ac¬ 
cepted with obvious reluctance. “You must really 
excuse me, Major Fenton,” she continued. “I can’t 
possibly manage to come to-day though I am very 
much obliged to you for offering to take me.” 

Except for an ugly glint in his blue eyes, the owner 
of the car managed to control his emotions. 

“Oh, very well,” he said, with a rather forced laugh, 
“if you’re really booked up, of course that settles it. 
We must make it another day instead, eh? How about 
to-morrow?” 

“To-morrow would be all right,” said Nancy, “as 
far as I know at present.” 

“I’ll call for you at the same time, then—say three 
o’clock, or perhaps we’d better make it a quarter past.” 
He lifted his hat again, and, after bestowing a curt 
nod on Colin, leaned over and closed the door of the 
car. The next moment he was moving away rapidly 
up the street. 

Nancy gave a sigh of relief. 

“I’m glad you were with me,” she said, as they 
started off in the opposite direction. “If I had been 
alone I couldn’t very well have got out of it.” 

Colin looked at her in surprise. “Why on earth 
should you go if you don’t want to?” he asked. “Is 
that truculent warrior your guardian or what?” 

Nancy shook her head. “I don’t know anything 
about him,” she answered, “except that he happens to 
be an old friend of my father’s.” She paused for an 
instant as they turned the corner into King’s Road. 


THE RED LODGE 


33 


“You see, I am rather alone in the world,” she con¬ 
tinued. “My father and mother both died when I was 
a baby, and as Major Fenton took the trouble to come 
and hunt me out about two months ago I didn’t like 
to seem ungrateful.” 

There was a touch of wistfulness in her voice which 
went straight to Colin’s heart. 

“Of course, that’s different,” he said gently. “It’s 
rotten bad luck to be left all by oneself. Haven’t you 
any relations or people of that sort?” 

“None that I ever heard of,” was the answer. “My 
father and mother were living in a little village in 
Cornwall, and one day they were caught in a storm out 
sailing, and they were both drowned. No one seemed 
to know anything about them at all. A lawyer at 
Helston, a very kind man called Mr. Penwarren, ad¬ 
vertised in the papers and made inquiries everywhere. 
They all led to nothing, however, and it ended with 
my going to live with an old farmer and his wife who 
had offered to take care of me. There was a little 
money—something like nine hundred pounds—which 
Mr. Penwarren had invested for me, and that gave me 
the chance of coming to London and setting up as a 
typist.” She stopped short, and glanced at Colin 
with a sudden trace of embarrassment. “I don’t 
know why I am telling you all this,” she added. “I’m 
afraid I must be boring you horribly.” 

Colin shook his head. “I never felt more inter¬ 
ested in my life. I thought that things like that only 
happened in books and plays.” 

“I wish they did,” said Nancy. “I simply hate not 


34 THE RED LODGE 

knowing who I am. It makes one feel like a lost 
dog.” 

“But how about our genial friend in the car?” in¬ 
quired Colin. “If he was a pal of your father’s he 
must surely have been able to give you some informa¬ 
tion.” 

“That’s just what he can’t do,” said Nancy. “He 
met my father years ago down at Porth Leven, where 
they used to go out fishing together. He went abroad 
with his regiment after that, and it was only when he 
came home this spring and happened to be in the same 
neighbourhood that he found out about the accident. 
He took the trouble to go over to Helston and see the 
lawyer, Mr. Penwarren, who gave him my address. 
I can’t imagine why he should have bothered about me 
at all, but for some extraordinary reason he seems to 
have thought it was his duty. Anyhow, he has cer¬ 
tainly gone out of his way to try and be kind to me, 
and although I don’t like him I naturally feel a certain 
amount of gratitude. He must be rather a nice man 
really or he wouldn’t have behaved as he has.” 

“I daresay you’re right,” said Colin doubtfully. “I 
have been told that the most objectionable people 
often have hearts of gold.” 

He piloted her round the corner of Church Street 
and led the way into a small garage, where a miscel¬ 
laneous collection of cars were ranged along the walls. 

“This is mine,” he remarked, coming to a halt in 
front of a rather battered four-seater. “She’s not a 
beauty to look at, but she can go like the devil.” 

Before Nancy could offer any comment a young man 


THE RED LODGE 


35 

in dirty overalls wriggled out from beneath a neigh¬ 
bouring limousine. 

Colin greeted him with a friendly nod. 

“I am going to take her out after all, Davis,” he 
said. “I shall be back some time this evening, and if 
you’re here we can run over her together.” 

Mr. Davis wiped his hands upon a piece of cotton 
waste and glanced appreciatively at Nancy. “Very 
good, sir,” he replied; “but, if you’ll excuse my saying 
so, I shouldn’t drive too fast—not if you’ve got a lady 
with you. The steering gear’s none too sound.” 

Colin laughed. “You needn’t pay any attention to 
Davis,” he observed to Nancy. “Like all people who 
have to give credit, he’s a hopeless pessimist.” 

He opened the door for her, and, climbing up along¬ 
side into the driving seat, switched on the spark and 
the lamps. 

With a slight shrug of his shoulders, as though to 
disclaim further responsibility, Mr. Davis bent down 
over the starting-handle. After several ineffectual 
Jerks the engine suddenly began running, and the next 
moment Colin was backing his way out through the 
open doorway. 

Sitting beside him, with her chin buried comfortably 
inside her collar, Nancy made no attempt at conversa¬ 
tion.- From the hint dropped by Mr. Davis she con¬ 
cluded that Colin was the sort of driver whom it was 
safer not to disturb with unnecessary chatter, an opin¬ 
ion which had been fully confirmed some time before 
they arrived at Sloane Square. 

He drove, indeed, at a pace which would have proved 


THE RED LODGE 


36 

highly distressing to any one of a timid disposition. 
Fortunately for Nancy, however, her nerves were in 
excellent order, and after the first half mile had been 
safely negotiated she began to find that the sensation 
of missing buses by a quarter of an inch was not with¬ 
out a peculiar and exhilarating charm. 

Apart from that, the actual journey through what 
to her was a totally unknown quarter of London was 
in itself a sufficiently stimulating experience. The 
crowds in the City, the flaring coster barrows in St. 
George’s Road, and the gradually increasing squalor 
and gloom as they drew nearer to their destination, all 
provided her with an unfailing source of interest. 

A little way down Shadwell High Street, at the 
corner of a side lane, Colin came to a halt in front of 
an uninviting-looking public house, alongside which 
was a closed gate leading apparently into a yard. 

“This is where I generally leave the car,” he an¬ 
nounced. “Mark’s place is only a few yards farther 
on.” 

As he spoke the door of the pub opened, and a 
stout gentleman in trousers, carpet slippers, and a 
rather dirty shirt loomed up in the opening. 

“ ’Ullo, Mister Gray,” he observed, in a kind of 
hoarse wheeze. “Quite a stranger, ain’t yer?” 

He spat genially into the gutter and, stepping for¬ 
ward, offered his hand to Colin. 

“Brought a bit o’ comp’ny with yer this time, I see,” 
he added. 

“That’s right,” said Colin. “Let me introduce you 
to each other. Mr. Higgins—Miss Seymour.” 


THE RED LODGE 


37 

The fat man wiped his hand on the back of his 
trousers and transferred it to Nancy. 

“Pleased to meet yer, miss,” he remarked. “Any 
friend o’ Mister Gray’s a friend o’ mine.” 

“Can I shove the car in your yard?” inquired Colin. 

“Certainly, an’ welcome,” was the answer. “You 
sit where you are an’ I’ll open the gaite for yer.” 

He produced a key, and, having fumbled for a 
moment with the rusty padlock, disclosed the entrance 
to a narrow courtyard, the only occupant of which was 
a surly-looking, red-eyed bull terrier, who was tethered 
to an empty barrel. 

“She’s as saife ’ere as in the perlice station,” con¬ 
tinued Mr. Higgins, as the car came to a stand-still 
against the wall. “Saifer, I should say, from wot I 
seen o’ some o’ them cops.” 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Colin with a laugh. He 
switched off the engine, and, getting out of the car, 
proceeded to rid himself of his driving gloves. “I 
don’t suppose we shall be very long,” he added. 
“We’re only going to have a cup of tea with the doc¬ 
tor.” 

“You’ll find me inside, any’ow,” returned Mr. Hig¬ 
gins. He stopped and fixed an admiring glance on 
Nancy, who was pleasantly employed in tickling the 
bull terrier’s left ear. “See that?” he continued with 
a chuckle. “Dang me if that don’t taike the biscuit. 
Scratchin’ of ’is head saime as if ’e was a little lamb.” 

“I always select my friends on account of their 
courage,” explained Colin unconcernedly. 

He strolled forward to the entrance, where Nancy 


THE RED LODGE 


38 

joined him, and the two of them waited on the pave¬ 
ment while the gate was being refastene'd. Then, 
after declining the pressing offer of a little refresh¬ 
ment from Mr. Higgins, they strolled off again along 
the narrow and unsavoury thoroughfare which is the 
nearest approach that Shadwell can boast to a main 
street. 

“You mustn’t judge the place entirely by its smells 
and its appearance,” said Colin. “You will probably 
find the people a bit rough at first, but they’re a jolly 
friendly lot really, and they all adore Mark. When 
they know you’re working for him they’ll be as nice to 
you as possible.” 

“Perhaps they won’t have the chance,” returned 
Nancy. “As I said before, the doctor may be one of 
those extraordinary people who expect to get some¬ 
thing useful in return for their money.” 

“Well, we’ll soon settle that point, anyway,” ob¬ 
served Colin. 

He pulled up in front of an old-fashioned two-story 
house, which had evidently survived from the days 
when Shadwell was more or less a country village. It 
stood a little way back from the street behind some 
battered iron railings, a brass plate on the door and 
a red lamp over the side entrance affording sufficient 
indications of its owner’s profession. 

Colin advanced to the front door and rang the 
bell. 

Its jangling had scarcely died away when there was 
a sound of footsteps inside, and the next moment a 
flood of light streamed out into the gloom. 


THE RED LODGE 


39 

A slim, sweet-faced woman, with beautiful but rather 
tired gray eyes, was standing on the mat. 

As soon as she saw who it was her expression lit up 
in a smile of unaffected pleasure. 

“Why, it’s Colin!” she exclaimed. “How delight¬ 
ful ! I thought it was someone cadging for subscrip¬ 
tions.” 

Colin shook his head. “It’s not money we want, 
lady,” he said, “it’s tea.” He pulled Nancy forward 
into the light. “By the way, let me introduce Miss 
Nancy Seymour. Nancy—Mary; Mary—Nancy.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I thought 
you were alone.” She pressed Nancy’s hand in a 
friendly welcome, and then, stepping back, shepherded 
them into the hall. 

“Take Miss Seymour upstairs, Colin,” she said. 
“You’ll find Mark in the study. He’s just finished 
work. You must excuse my deserting you for a mo¬ 
ment. It’s Martha Jane’s day out, so I’m getting 
tea.” 

“Can I help?” inquired Nancy. 

She shook her head with another smile. “Every¬ 
thing’s ready,” she answered. “You go along with 
Colin, and I’ll be up in a minute. I’ve only got to 
fetch the crumpets.” 

She disappeared in the direction of the back regions, 
and having deposited his hat and coat on the hall table, 
Colin led the way upstairs. 

As they reached the first landing a door on the 
right opened, and Mark himself appeared on the 
threshold. He had a large cherry-wood pipe in his 


40 


THE RED LODGE 


mouth, and he had discarded his frock coat in favour 
of a Norfolk jacket. 

“Hullo, Colin!” he exclaimed. “I thought I heard 
your musical voice. Why the devil-” 

He stopped short as he suddenly caught sight of 
Nancy. 

“You shouldn’t swear in front of ladies,” said Colin 
reprovingly. “It’s not done in the best medical 
circles.” 

Mark came forward with an embarrassed air. 

“I say, please excuse me,” he stammered. “I didn’t 
see there was any one else there.” 

“It’s all right,” said Nancy, laughing. “I’ve heard 
the expression before—several times.” 

Colin looked at them both with mischievous amuse¬ 
ment. 

“Hadn’t you better introduce us?” suggested Mark. 
“It would be more useful than standing there grinning 
like a Cheshire cat.” 

“I didn’t think it was necessary,” said Colin. 
“Surely you’ve guessed that you’re talking to the 
angel?” 

Mark stared at him in bewilderment. 

“Talking to whom?” he inquired. 

“The angel,” repeated Colin. “You asked me to 
find you an angel, and here she is!” 

A sudden light seemed to break in upon their host’s 
intelligence. 

“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “You don’t say so! 
Come along into the study*.” 

• He ushered them both into a snug, comfortably 



THE RED LODGE 


4i 


furnished room, lined all round with books, where a 
table was set out for tea and a bright fire was burning 
in the grate. 

“Now, Colin,” he demanded, “were you pulling my 
leg, or is this really a fact?” 

“Of course it’s a fact,” said Colin, “and a very 
nice one too.” 

“I can see that for myself,” retorted Mark. He 
turned to Nancy and pushed forward a chair. “Do sit 
down,” he added. “You must forgive my being rather 
stupid, but I really thought Colin was joking. You see, 
I only mentioned the matter to him a few hours ago.” 

“It doesn’t take me long to do a little job like that,” 
said Colin, “not when I once start it.” 

Nancy was about to speak when she was interrupted 
by a plaintive request from outside that someone would 
open the door. Colin hastened to comply, and Mrs. 
Mark, carrying a teapot and a large covered plate, 
sailed smilingly into the room. 

“Be careful of the crumpets, Colin,” she said, as he 
relieved her of her burden. “I have done them with 
a double lot of butter in honour of your visit.” 

Mark laid his hand on his wife’s shoulder. 

“Mary,” he said, wheeling her round so that she 
faced Nancy, “do you know who this is?” 

“Of course I do,” was the answer. “We were in¬ 
troduced to each other on the doorstep. I had no idea 
that Colin had such nice friends.” 

“But you haven’t heard the really thrilling part of 
it. This is the dream secretary who is going to get us 
out of all our troubles.” 


42 


THE RED LODGE 


“Oh, how splendid!” exclaimed Mary, but before 
she could add anything further Nancy rose to her feet 
with a little protesting gesture. 

“Please,” she said, “please! You’re making me feel 
the most dreadful humbug and impostor!” She turned 
to Colin. “Do tell them the truth, Doctor Gray.” 

“I’m only waiting for the chance,” said Colin. 

With a good-natured chuckle Mark placed his pipe 
on the mantelpiece, and pulled up a couple of chairs 
to the table. 

“Fire ahead, my lad,” he observed. “That’s to 
say, if you can eat crumpets and talk intelligibly at the 
same time.” 

Spurred on by this encouragement, Colin set about 
his task with obvious relish. He was a good hand at 
telling a story, and under his eloquent treatment the 
slightly unusual circumstances which had attended his 
first introduction to Nancy lost nothing in dramatic 
freshness. Retailed, indeed, amid the chink of tea¬ 
cups and the pleasant crackling of the wood fire, they 
seemed to appear more romantic than ever, and both 
Mark and Mary listened to him with a fascinated in¬ 
terest which showed itself plainly in their faces. 

Having described the capture of “Ginger Dick” 
and done full justice to the spirited behaviour of Nancy 
during the operations, he went on to relate how he had 
walked back with her to the studio, and had been ad¬ 
mitted into the secret of her profession. 

“Of course,” he finished, “directly I heard that I 
knew where I was. You’d asked me to find you a 
resourceful angel, and here she was fluttering round 


THE RED LODGE 


43 


Chelsea wasting her life typing out bad stories! The 
whole thing was evidently a put-up job on the part of 
Providence.” 

“It seems to be like a direct answer to prayer,” said 
Mark, with considerable enthusiasm. “I can hardly 
believe it even now.” 

Mary leaned across and began refilling Nancy’s cup. 
“My dear,” she begged, “please say that it’s true. 
You can’t imagine how it will relieve our feelings. If 
Colin has been misrepresenting the situation I shall 
burst into floods of tears.” 

“I am afraid he has,” declared Nancy, laughing, 
“but only with regard to my qualifications. If I 
really thought that I could be of any use to you, there’s 
nothing I should like better than to come and work 
here.” 

Mark rose to his feet and brandished the teacup 
triumphantly over his head. 

“This is magnificent,” he exclaimed. “What the 
Prayer Book calls ‘a happy issue out of all our afflic¬ 
tions.’ ” 

His wife regarded him with an affectionate smile. 
“You had better control your feelings, Mark,” she 
said. “If you go on like that Miss Seymour will 
think you’re mad, and she’ll probably resign straight 
away.” She turned to Nancy. “I should hate to 
say anything that could possibly put you off, but I 
think it’s only fair to give you a word of warning. 
You are so young and so pretty that it seems a shame 
you should bury yourself in Shadwell. We do our 
best to be cheerful, but, you know, a doctor’s prac- 


44 


THE RED LODGE 


tice in the East End of London is nearly all hard 
work and no play. You will probably find it horribly 
depressing.” 

Nancy shook her head. “I am not afraid of that,” 
she said. “I rather like hard work as long as it’s use¬ 
ful. What I’m doubtful about is whether I can do 
what you want.” 

“Good Lord, yes,” exclaimed'Mark hastily. “It’s 
only just a matter of common sense. Mary would 
put you up to the ropes in half an hour.” 

“What are you doing now?” suggested the latter. 
“Why don’t you stay on here and have supper with 
us? There will be plenty of time before then to give 
you a rough idea of what the work is like, and we can 
settle up the whole thing straight away.” 

Mary glanced at Colin. “It sounds a good idea,” 
she agreed. “I suppose I can get home by train?” 

“You won’t have to worry about that,” said Colin. 
“I’ll take the car up to the garage and do my repairs, 
and then come down again and join you here.” 

In a half-humorous, half-wistful fashion Nancy 
looked round at all three of them. 

“I am not used to people being so kind,” she said. 
“Unless somebody’s disagreeable soon I am afraid 
I shall begin to cry.” 

Mary came up to her and again squeezed her hands 
affectionately. “You must never cry in this house, 
my dear,” she said. “It’s the only form of dissipa¬ 
tion that Mark won’t allow.” 


THE RED LODGE 


45 


It was exactly two and a half hours later when 
Colin, straightening himself with a grunt, turned tri¬ 
umphantly to the pessimistic Davis. 

“I think we’ve fixed her this time,” he observed, 
wiping his hands on his dungaree trousers. “It will 
be nice to be able to push along at a reasonable pace 
without feeling that something’s going to give.” 

The other lifted up the front seat and thrust 
away the spanner which he had been holding in his 
hand. 

“It didn’t seem to make much difference,” he re¬ 
plied, “not judgin’ by the way you started off this 
afternoon. I was half expectin’ you and that young 
lady to come back on a couple of stretchers.” 

“Oh, we got along all right,” said Colin. “Miss 
Seymour enjoyed the drive very much indeed.” 

“Did she?” was the somewhat incredulous answer. 
“Well, I reckon if she knew the state that steering 
gear was in she must be hard up for a bit of excite¬ 
ment.” 

Colin laughed, and, stripping off his overalls, stuffed 
them away into an open locker. 

“You had better let me have the key,” he said. “I 
don’t suppose I shall be back till about eleven. I have 
promised to go down to Shadwell for supper, only I 
must slip round to the hospital and tidy myself up 
first.” 

Davis handed over the desired article, and a few 
minutes afterward, leaving his car in the gutter, 
Colin hurried up the steps of St. Christopher’s and 
passed in through the swing doors. 


46 THE RED LODGE 

On catching sight of him the porter stepped out 
from his box. 

“Telegram for you, sir,” he announced. “Come in 
about a quarter of an hour ago.” 

Colin paused beneath the big centre light and, rip¬ 
ping open the envelope, pulled out its contents. 

The message was short but very much to the point: 

“Please call at the Red Lodge to-morrow three- 

thirty.—C arter.” 


CHAPTER THREE 


In THE days when a young and promising draper, 
called Mr. John Barker, had recently opened a small 
shop in the High Street, Kensington, Campden Hill 
was a singularly attractive place to live in. The 
favourite resort of affluent artists, retired judges, and 
other persons of culture and dignity, it still managed 
to retain a semi-rural tranquillity unknown to any 
other part of central London. 

Time, however, which has dealt nobly with Mr. 
Barker, has unfortunately robbed the district of most 
of its former charm. Of the old-fashioned houses 
which stood formerly in their own pleasant grounds 
only a sadly thinned remnant now survive. Tucked 
away in odd corners, amid an ever-encroaching flood of 
“desirable modern residences,” they seem to wait sadly 
for the hour when, in a cloud of dust and mortar, the 
relentless tapping of the pick serves for their funeral 
bell. 

The Red Lodge, the home of Professor Carter, 
dated back to the leisured days of George the Third. 
It was a square, creeper-clad house, surrounded by a 
high wall, with a covered passageway leading up 
from the street to the front door. Through the 
outside gate, the upper half of which consisted of an 
iron grille, the curiously minded passer-by could, by 
47 


48 


THE RED LODGE 


straining his neck, just obtain a glimpse into the 
neglected garden. Whether it were worth his while 
to indulge in such contortions, however, was a matter 
of some doubt, for a desolate expanse of ill-kept lawn, 
dotted here and there with stunted bushes and over¬ 
hung by gaunt trees, was the only prospect that re¬ 
warded his enterprise. 

Standing on the pavement, Colin inspected what 
was probably his future residence with a considerable 
amount of curiosity. He was not in the least fanciful, 
but even to a thoroughly healthy imagination the old 
house certainly presented a forlorn and rather mysteri¬ 
ous aspect. There seemed to him nothing surprising 
in the fact that, having once been burgled, the Pro¬ 
fessor had begun to feel the need of a trustworthy 
assistant, especially if he were engaged in researches 
which would undoubtedly possess a large financial 
value. 

On the right of the gate a rusty bell-handle lolled 
out dejectedly from its socket. Colin gave it a vigor¬ 
ous pull, and a distant jingling somewhere inside the 
house told him that the wire was still in working 
order. 

Looking through the grille, he waited patiently 
for the best part of a minute. At last he heard the 
sound of somebody fumbling with a chain, then the 
front door opened, and an old, bent woman came 
slowly down the steps. 

Holding her shawl together with one hand, she 
shuffled along to the end of the passage and peered 
at him through the ironwork. 


THE RED LODGE 


49 

“Are you the gentleman that’s expected?'’ she asked 
suspiciously. 

“It’s quite likely,” said Colin. “Anyhow, I had a 
telegram from Professor Carter asking me to call at 
three-thirty.” 

“That must be right, then,” was the somewhat 
grudging answer, and, turning the lock, she pulled back 
the gate just wide enough for him to enter. 

Following her up the passageway and through the 
front door, Colin found himself in a big, well-lighted 
hall, at the back of which a couple of French windows 
opened out into the garden behind. Several pieces 
of massive Victorian furniture were ranged symmetri¬ 
cally round the walls, and a broad, thickly carpeted 
staircase led up to the landing above. 

“If you’ll step into the library,” observed his guide, 
“I’ll tell Mr. Carter you’ve come.” 

She opened a door on the right, and, accepting her 
invitation, Colin passed through into a long, cheerless 
apartment, three sides of which were almost com¬ 
pletely lined with books. There was no fire in the 
grate, and such chairs as there were looked so ex¬ 
tremely uncomfortable that only the most hardened 
man of letters could have described it as an agreeable 
resort. 

Colin did not attempt to sit down. After a cursory 
glance round he walked over to the nearest bookcase 
and began to examine the titles of some of the vol¬ 
umes, all of which appeared to deal with scientific 
subjects, a fair proportion of them being in French 
and German. He was deep in this occupation when 


50 


THE RED LODGE 


he heard the door open, and, wheeling round quickly, 
he found the Professor coming toward him. 

Like every other young investigator, Colin was 
more or less familiar with photographs of his host, 
but all the same the latter’s appearance in real life 
came to him with something of a shock. A very old 
man, wearing a skull cap, from which long white 
hair hung down over his collar, he seemed at first 
sight to be almost pitifully frail and feeble. It was 
only when a second glance revealed the gleam which 
still lurked behind his gold spectacles and the dour, 
obstinate lines of his mouth and chin that this sense 
of physical weakness was swept away by a sudden 
impression of extraordinary intellectual power and 
immense force of character. 

With a little exclamation of annoyance he advanced 
to where Colin was standing. 

“I am sorry that you should have been left alone 
in this ice house,” he began in a high, quavering 
voice. “I can’t imagine why Mrs. Ramsay showed 
you in here, except that she happens to be a born 
fool.” 

Colin accepted the thin, veined hand which the old 
scientist offered him. 

“I have been quite happy, thank you, sir,” he said. 
“I have been inspecting your library.” 

“I trust that you found something to entertain 
you,” was the answer. “There are some interesting 
books here, but, unfortunately, they are mixed up 
with a good deal of trash. Every ignoramus who 
airs his views on some subject about which he knows 


THE RED LODGE 


5i 


nothing seems to think it necessary to send me a copy.” 
He turned toward the entrance. “You had better 
come into my study,” he added. “There is a nice fire 
there, and we can talk in comfort.” 

Leading the way to the door, he conducted Colin 
across the hall into another and almost similarly 
shaped room exactly opposite. Here also the walls 
were lined with bookcases, but, thanks to the fire and 
one or two easy chairs, there was a certain air of 
homeliness altogether lacking in the library. 

The Professor made a gesture towards a dilapidated 
couch. 

“Sit down, Mr. Gray,” he continued. “I don’t 
know whether you appreciate a good cigar, but if 
you do I can offer you something a little out of the 
ordinary. Of course, if you are sufficiently young 
and barbarous to prefer a pipe don’t hesitate to say 
so.” 

“Well, I’m not an expert,” admitted Colin. “All 
the same, I like to improve my education when I get 
the chance.” 

The old man smiled grimly, and, moving across to 
a black oak bureau in the corner, returned with a 
box of long, delicately shaped Havanas. 

“Smoking is the one pleasure left which I can still 
enjoy,” he explained. “Under the circumstances, I 
take particular care to have the best.” 

He waited until Colin had lighted up, and then, 
following his example, placed the box on the table 
between them and seated himself in a big armchair in 
front of the fire. 


52 


THE RED LODGE 


“And now, my young friend,” he said, “let us get to 
business. I believe that Onslow has said something 
to you about my reasons for asking you to come and 
see me.” 

Colin nodded. “Sir George called at the hospital 
yesterday,” he said. “I understood from him that 
you were thinking of engaging a resident assistant, 
and that he had suggested me as a possible choice.” 

The Professor drew down the corners of his mouth 
in a dry smile. 

“Oh, you understood that, did you?” he remarked. 
“Well, it’s hardly the impression which Onslow con¬ 
veyed to me. From the enthusiastic fashion in which 
he spoke about your abilities I gathered that I should 
be remarkably fortunate if you would even consider 
the proposal.” 

Colin flushed handsomely. “Sir George has always 
been uncommonly kind to me,” he said, “but he knows 
that I should regard it as a tremendous honour to be 
allowed to work under you.” 

The Professor looked at him over the top of his 
spectacles. 

“Well, I am glad to hear you speak so sensibly. 
Most clever young men are intolerably conceited.” 
He paused. “I think I ought to make the situation 
quite plain before we go any further. As Onslow may 
have mentioned, this suggested arrangement of mine 
isn’t quite the compliment to your professional skill 
which it appears to be on the surface.” 

Colin laughed. “Yes, I know about that, sir,” he 
replied. “I can only say that if you will allow me to 


THE RED LODGE 


53 

assist you in the daytime I don’t care how many burg¬ 
lars I have to tackle at night.” 

“It’s hardly likely to be a regular feature of your 
duties,” returned the Professor. “Still, the fact re¬ 
mains that this house has been broken into once, and 
there seems to be no apparent reason why the same 
thing shouldn’t happen again.” 

“Did you lose much?” asked Colin. 

The old man shook his head. “Nothing that I am 
aware of. My visitor, whoever he was, got into this 
room by the window. The only thing damaged was 
that desk in the corner.” He nodded toward the black 
oak bureau. “The safe over there in which I gener¬ 
ally keep a certain amount of money, was absolutely 
untouched.” 

“He might have been interrupted in the middle of 
his job,” suggested Colin. 

“He might have been,” assented the Professor, “but 
as it happens he wasn’t. It was not until Mrs. Ram¬ 
say came in here the next morning that we had the 
least idea anything was wrong.” 

Colin leaned forward and knocked off his ash into 
the fireplace. “It seems rather an extraordinary 
thing,” he remarked. “Had you any specially valu¬ 
able papers—I mean, anything like a description of 
some new scientific process—which people might want 
to get hold of?” 

“I daresay I had,” was the answer, “but if so it 
was certainly not in that desk. I keep everything 
relating to my work in a special cabinet in the labora¬ 
tory. You would think that a gentleman who was 


54 


THE RED LODGE 


sufficiently intelligent to try to steal things of that 
nature would at least assure himself first that he was 
on the right ground.” 

“What had the police got to say about it?” Colin 
inquired. “I suppose you called them in?” 

“I did nothing of the sort,” returned the Professor 
abruptly. “I have only a very limited amount of 
time remaining to me, and there are plenty of excellent 
ways in which I can occupy it. Because some lunatic 
chooses to break open my desk and rummage through 
my papers I fail to see why I should waste several 
valuable hours standing in a witness box answering 
superfluous and probably impertinent questions. All 
the same, these sorts of experiences are extremely 
upsetting to a man of my age. They alarm the 
household and they distract me from my work. 
In case of a similar experience, I should be glad 
to feel that there was someone on the premises 
who could be trusted to act with promptness and 
efficiency.” 

“You can depend on me for that,” said Colin, “as 
long as I’m not asleep.” 

There was a brief pause while the Professor took 
off his spectacles and polished them with a red silk 
handkerchief. 

“Well, now that we understand each other,” he 
continued, “I think it would be as well to discuss 
one or two practical details. With regard to your 
remuneration, for instance. I don’t know what 
you are getting at St. Christopher’s, but I propose 
to give you four hundred a year. You will have no 


THE RED LODGE 


55 


expenses living in the house, so unless you are fool¬ 
ishly extravagant that ought to be quite an adequate 
salary.” 

“It will do me very nicely,” said Colin. “As a mat¬ 
ter of fact, I’ve got a little money of my own, and the 
only extravagant habit I’ve developed so far is keep¬ 
ing a car.” 

The Professor grunted. “When I was your age,” 
he remarked, “young men either walked or rode. 
Still, as long as you are capable of amusing yourself 
it doesn’t matter to me how you spend your leisure 
time.” He replaced his spectacles and returned 
the handkerchief to his breast pocket. “I shall give 
instructions that you are to be properly looked after, 
but whether they will be carried out is another mat¬ 
ter. Since my man Kennedy left me I have had no 
one in the house except Mrs. Ramsay and the cook. 
They are both old, like myself, and my own wants 
are so simple that their ideas of catering are prob¬ 
ably a little on the Spartan side. If you find you are 
uncomfortable, or that you are not getting enough to 
eat and drink, you must let me know.” He paused. 
“As for recreation or entertainment—well, if you are 
expecting anything of that nature you are coming to 
the wrong place. The only visitor I ever have is my 
solicitor, Mr. Medwin, whom, by the way, I am ex¬ 
pecting this afternoon. I warn you frankly that un¬ 
less you can throw yourself into your work you will 
find life here intolerably dull.” 

Colin shook his head. “I don’t think we need dis¬ 
cuss that, sir,” he said cheerfully. “Anyway, as far 


THE RED LODGE 


56 

as my present feelings are concerned I wouldn’t change 
places with any one in England.” 

With another and rather more approving grunt the 
Professor hoisted himself slowly out of his chair. 

“You seem to have some sense, my young friend,” 
he observed. “How would you like to come along 
and look at the laboratory? I don’t suppose Medwin 
will be here for another twenty minutes.” 

“I should like it very much,” said Colin promptly. 

He rose to his feet, and, dropping the stump of 
his cigar into the fire, followed his host out of the 
room and along the hall. On reaching the French 
windows the Professor turned to the left, and, having 
descended a couple of steps, pulled up in front of a 
solid-looking door, which he proceeded to unlock with 
a Yale key. 

“This, of course, is not part of the original house,” 
he explained. “I had it built on about twenty years 
ago, and one way and another it’s cost me a pretty 
penny, I can tell you.” 

He led the way inside, and, with an air of pride 
that he made no effort to conceal, turned on the elec¬ 
tric light. 

For a private laboratory the place was certainly 
unique. A large, lofty room, roofed with glass and 
lined with white tiles, it appeared to have been fitted 
up with a complete disregard for expense that would 
have excited envy in the most lavishly endowed Amer¬ 
ican university. 

For several seconds Colin stood looking round in 
voiceless appreciation. His eyes wandered in turn 


THE RED LODGE 


57 


over the shining array of taps and switches, the enam¬ 
elled basins, the big electric furnace, and all the other 
up-to-date appliances which gleamed invitingly under 
the hard, unshaded light. 

At last, with a sigh of satisfaction, he turned to the 
Professor. 

“As long as I can work here,” he said, “I don’t care 
what I have to eat or drink.” 

Evidently pleased with his companion’s enthusiasm, 
the old man closed the door carefully behind them, 
and, having replaced the key in his pocket, started 
off on an explanatory tour of the room. With the 
absorption of an expert loosed upon his favourite 
topic, he moved methodically along from one spot 
to another, stopping in front of each object in turn 
to explain or demonstrate its various uses. 

Colin, who was more than content to play the part 
of a listener, followed him round in absolute silence. 
Familiar as he was with all the latest developments in 
research, his acquaintance with many branches was 
naturally of a rather superficial nature, and, although 
he was prepared for something of the sort, the appar¬ 
ent depth and accuracy of the Professor’s knowledge 
filled him with amazed respect. 

To what height this feeling might have attained 
it is impossible to say, for just as they had arrived 
at the electric furnace a sudden tap on the door in¬ 
terrupted their proceedings. 

With an impatient click of his tongue the aged 
scientist glanced sharply round in the direction of the 
sound. 


58 


THE RED LODGE 


“Now who the devil’s that?” he exclaimed. “I 
have given orders repeatedly that when I’m in here 
I am not to be disturbed.” 

He shuffled wrathfully down the room, and, jerk¬ 
ing open the door, revealed the lean figure of Mrs. 
Ramsay. 

“What’s the matter?” he demanded. “Why don’t 
you obey my instructions?” 

“It’s no good getting cross,” returned the house¬ 
keeper impassively. “You asked Mr. Medwin to call, 
and you can’t leave ’im sitting in the study.” 

“Oh, he’s come, has he?” was the slightly mollified 
answer. “Well, in that case I suppose we had better 
go along and make ourselves civil to him.” He 
turned to Colin, who had followed him to the door. 
“You will stay to tea, of course?” he added. 

Colin, who was trying hard not to smile, expressed 
his willingness, and, having closed and locked the 
laboratory, the Professor conducted him back 
through the hall to the room which they had recently 
quitted. 

A big, clean-shaven, middle-aged man, who was 
standing in front of the fire, stepped forward at their 
entrance. 

“I hope I am not too punctual,” he began, in a 
curiously smooth voice. “I think four o’clock was the 
time you mentioned in your letter.” 

He shook hands with his host, and at the same 
time his glance travelled inquisitively toward Colin. 

“That’s quite correct,” replied the Professor. “I 
was just showing the laboratory to my young friend 


THE RED LODGE 


59 

here. By the way, let me introduce you. Doctor 
Gray—Mr. Medwin.” 

Colin felt his hand enveloped in a large, soft palm, 
while a pair of very acute eyes rapidly scanned his 
face. 

“I am delighted to meet you,” said Mr. Medwin. 

“It’s a pleasure that you will probably have on 
future occasions,” observed the Professor. ‘‘Doctor 
Gray is coming to live here as my resident assistant.” 

It seemed to Colin that in spite of his bland manner 
the lawyer was momentarily disconcerted. 

“Really,” he observed, after a slight hesitation, “I 
had no idea that you were contemplating anything of 
that sort.” 

“I don’t suppose you had,” said the Professor drily. 
“The idea only occurred to me last week, but when I 
make up my mind I generally act upon it at once. If 
you will forgive my saying so, Medwin, it’s a habit 
that some members of your profession might cultivate 
with advantage.” 

Mr. Medwin, who appeared to have recovered his 
self-possession, smiled affably. 

“I won’t dispute the statement,” he said. “There’s 
no doubt that, taking us altogether, we’re a dilatory 
lot.” 

The arrival of Mrs. Ramsay with the tea made a 
temporary diversion, and, having requested Colin to 
officiate, the Professor seated himself on the couch 
alongside his visitor. 

“What I chiefly wanted to see you about,” he be¬ 
gan, “was that new agreement with the American 


6o 


THE RED LODGE 


Dye Company. I had a letter from them yesterday, 
and, with their usual transatlantic hustle, they are anx¬ 
ious to get the matter settled up at once.” 

“Well, there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be,” re¬ 
turned the other. “I went through the papers last 
night, and they all seem to be in order. If I had 
known you were in a hurry I would have brought 
them along.” He paused. “Perhaps Doctor Gray 
would be good enough to stroll back with me as far as 
my house after tea. In that case I can hand them over 
to him. I would fetch them myself, but, unfortu¬ 
nately, I have an engagement.” 

“I can manage that all right,” said Colin. “I sha’n’t 
be wanted at the hospital until seven.” 

He finished pouring out the tea, and, having dis¬ 
tributed the cups, took the vacant seat on the farther 
side of the fireplace. 

Somehow or other the personality of the big, suave 
solicitor had already inspired him with a vague dis¬ 
trust. He always disliked men with soft hands and 
that particular type of voice, especially when, as in the 
present case, their eyes were unpleasantly close to¬ 
gether. 

He had, too, an instinctive feeling that, in spite of 
his apparent friendliness, Mr. Medwin was by no 
means disposed to regard him as a desirable addition 
to the Red Lodge. Whether it was a mere whim of 
the latter’s, or whether he resented the prospect of 
anybody else being mixed up with the Professor’s 
business affairs, it was impossible to guess. The only 
thing Colin felt sure about was that the announcement 


THE RED LODGE 61 

of his engagement had come to the other as a dis¬ 
tinctly unwelcome surprise. 

After chatting away amiably for about twenty min¬ 
utes, Mr. Medwin at length rose to his feet and an¬ 
nounced that it was time for him to be taking his 
departure. 

“I live quite close by, in Albert Terrace,” he added, 
turning to Colin, “so if you are in no special hurry 
it’s hardly worth while bothering about a taxi. You 
can walk there and back in a quarter of an hour.” 

“And I shall be extremely obliged to you for your 
trouble, Gray,” interposed the Professor. “It will 
be a great convenience to me to have the papers 
to-night. I am really beginning to wonder how I have 
managed to get along all this time without you.” 

Colin laughed, and, picking up his hat from the 
side table where he had originally placed it, followed 
the still smiling Mr. Medwin out into the hall and 
along the covered passageway. 

They exchanged no remark until the iron gate had 
closed behind them, when, turning down the hill, his 
new acquaintance addressed him with an air of good- 
natured amusement. 

“A queer character, our old friend,” he observed. 
“I always say he might have stepped, bodily out of 
one of Dickens’s books.” He paused, and eyed Colin 
again with that sharp, penetrating glance of his. 
“Have you known him long?” he added. 

“Not very,” said Colin. “About an hour, to be 
exact.” 

Mr. Medwin raised his eyebrows. 


6 2 


THE RED LODGE 


“Really!” he exclaimed. “Then I suppose youi 
arrangement to come and live at the Red Lodge was 
only decided this afternoon?” 

Colin nodded. 

“I wonder what put the idea into his head,” con¬ 
tinued the lawyer. “It’s almost the last thing one 
would have expected from such a confirmed old her¬ 
mit.” 

For a moment Colin hesitated. The question was 
natural enough, but since the Professor had chosen 
to remain silent he thought it better to keep his own 
counsel. 

“There is a lot of hard work in connection with 
research,” he replied. “When a man gets to his 
age he’s bound to require a certain amount of 
help.” 

“Yes, yes, that’s true, of course,” assented the other. 
“As a matter of fact, I have suggested to him several 
times myself that he was overtaxing his strength. The 
only thing that surprises me is his proposal that you 
should live in the house.” He paused. “If you 
won’t think me inquisitive, may I ask how you came to 
make his acquaintance?” 

“There was nothing very remarkable about it,” 
said Colin. “I happen to be house surgeon at St. 
Christopher’s, and Sir George Onslow, one of the 
visiting physicians, was good enough to mention my 
name to him.” 

“I have often heard of St. Christopher’s,” returned 
Mr. Medwin pleasantly. “A client of mine, Lord 
Cleveland, was vice-chairman for several years. You’ll 


THE RED LODGE 63 

find your new existence rather dull, won’t you, after 
the life and bustle of a big hospital?” 

“I don’t expect to,” said Colin. “I am extremely 
interested in research work, and from what I have 
seen of the Professor I think we shall get along to¬ 
gether very nicely.” 

As he spoke they came out into the High Street, 
and, not knowing which way to turn, he glanced in¬ 
quiringly at his companion. 

“Straight across the road,” said Mr. Medwin. 
“It’s only just round the corner out of Kensington 
Square.” 

They made their way through the traffic, and a 
few minutes’ walk brought them to a row of small 
white, semi-detached houses, each one standing back 
behind a narrow strip of garden. 

Mr. Medwin pulled up in front of the third, and 
opened the gate for Colin. 

“This is my chateau,” he announced. “Not quite 
so magnificent as the Red Lodge, but it does well 
enough for a middle-aged bachelor.” 

He proceeded up the path, and, unlocking the front 
door, ushered Colin into a tiny hall, the walls of which 
were hung round with valuable sporting prints. 

“I prefer a small house to a flat,” he continued, 
“and I am lucky enough to have a French manservant 
and his wife, who run the entire place for me.” 

He opened a door to the left, and, switching on the 
electric light, revealed a charmingly furnished dining¬ 
room. 

“Perhaps you won’t mind waiting in here for al 


THE RED LODGE 


6 4 

moment,” he added. “You will find some whisky and 
soda and a box of cigarettes on the sideboard. Make 
yourself at home while I go and fetch the papers.” 

With another genial smile he disappeared into the 
opposite apartment, and, accepting his invitation, 
Colin strolled across the room and helped himself to 
a cigarette. 

It was quite evident that, although he was con¬ 
tented with a small house, Mr. Medwin was a gentle¬ 
man of taste and means. The fine Persian carpet, 
the harmoniously coloured curtains, and the admir¬ 
ably preserved Chippendale chairs could only have 
been the choice of a man who was blessed with an 
ample income and a cultivated feeling for beautiful 
surroundings. 

Having surveyed everything with leisurely appre¬ 
ciation, Colin mixed himself a drink and sauntered 
back to the fireplace. He had taken a sip and was 
reaching up to deposit his glass upon the mantelpiece 
when a small photograph in a silver frame suddenly 
attracted his attention. He paused mid-way and 
stared at it with interest. It was a snapshot of a man 
upon horseback—a rough amateur effort, apparently 
taken just before the start of a steeplechase. 

The rider’s face was turned full toward him, and, 
slightly out of focus as the negative was, the features 
seemed curiously familiar. He lifted it down and 
examined it more closely. The impression that it 
was a picture of someone whom he had met became 
stronger than ever, but although he racked his memory 
he could get no nearer toward placing the original. 


THE RED LODGE 


65 

He was still puzzling over the problem when he 
heard footsteps crossing the hall. Replacing the 
frame in its former position, he faced round toward 
the door, and the next moment Mr. Medwin entered 
carrying a large envelope in his hand. 

“There are the papers,” he said, handing them to 
Colin. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.” His 
eye fell upon the glass, and with an approving nod he 
turned away in the direction of the sideboard. “I 
think I shall have to follow your example,” he added, 
“if it’s merely to drink success to your new venture.” 

He splashed some spirit into a tumbler and filled it 
up with water. 

“My best wishes!” he said heartily, “and I hope 
that the experiment will prove a complete success.” 

“I hope so, too,” returned Colin. “It certainly 
looks promising enough as far as it’s gone at present.” 

The lawyer emptied his glass and replaced it beside 
the tantalus. 

“I shall be very interested to hear how you get 
on,” he continued. “The Professor is a wonderful 
old gentleman, but of course he’s inclined to be a trifle 
eccentric. With a little tact, however, I think you 
ought to manage him excellently. As soon as you 
have settled down you must come round to dinner one 
night and tell me all about it.” 

Colin made some conventional reply to the effect 
that he would be delighted, though, as a matter of 
strict accuracy, the prospect of his confiding in Mr. 
Medwin seemed to him to be a particularly remote 


one. 


66 


THE RED LODGE 


However, he shook hands cordially enough, and, 
escorted by his host as far as the garden gate, started 
off briskly down the terrace on his return journey. 

He had reached the corner and was just turning 
into Kensington Square when his thoughts suddenly 
went back to the photograph which he had been ex¬ 
amining in the dining-room. 

At the same moment a flash of memory darted 
through his mind, and he pulled up short with a half- 
stifled exclamation. 

He knew now! 

It was a portrait of Major Fenton, the man to whom 
Nancy had introduced him outside her studio. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


Colin finished his coffee and looked inquiringly across 
the table. 

“Have you any special plans for this afternoon?” 
he asked. “If not, I thought I’d get on with that 
new parcel of stuff from Paris. The sooner it’s 
sorted out and classified the better.” 

The Professor, who was engaged in selecting a 
cigar, stopped in the middle of the operation. 

“Let me see, Gray,” he observed, “how long have 
you been with me?” 

Colin reflected for a moment. “I came on a Wed¬ 
nesday,” he said. “That will be three weeks to¬ 
morrow.” 

“And I believe,” continued the Professor, “that 
except for a few occasional pauses for sleep and re¬ 
freshment, you have spent the whole of that period 
shut up in the laboratory.” 

Colin gave a protesting laugh. “Well, I wanted to 
get the hang of things as soon as possible,” he replied. 
“I can stand a lot of work provided it’s interesting.” 

“That appears to be the truth,” admitted his em¬ 
ployer. “All the same, every piece of machinery has 
its breaking-point, and, as I am beginning to find you 
extremely useful, I have no wish that you should sud¬ 
denly collapse. You will therefore oblige me by going 
67 


68 


THE RED LODGE 


out into the open air and not showing your face inside 
this house again until bedtime.” 

“Just as you please, sir,” said Colin, pushing back 
his chair. “I suppose it would be no use my suggest¬ 
ing that you should try a little of the same prescription 
yourself?” 

The Professor shook his head. “I am more fav¬ 
ourably situated than you, my young friend,” he re¬ 
plied. “In the course of nature I shall soon have 
all the rest that I need.” He chuckled at his own 
sombre jest, and, coming forward, laid his hand on 
Colin’s shoulder. “You have been of very real assist¬ 
ance, to me, Gray,” he added, “but there is no sense 
in flogging a willing horse. I can quite well spare 
you to-day, so off you go, whether you like it or not.” 

Colin, who had been long enough at the Red Lodge 
to know the futility of arguing, at once rose to his feet. 

“I will see if I can rout out Mark Ashton,” he said, 
“that doctor pal of mine I was telling you about the 
other day. I should think that with any luck we 
ought to be able to carry on until midnight.” 

He accepted a cigar which the Professor offered 
him, and, making his way to the telephone in the hall, 
rang up the Shadwell surgery. 

“Hullo!” came a voice. “Who’s that? Colin? 
Why, good Lord, man, w T e thought you were dead!” 

“Why should I be dead?” retorted Colin. “I’m 
not one of your patients.” 

He heard a laugh at the other end of the wire. 

“As a matter of fact,” he continued, “I’m just 
Starting off to pay you a visit.” 


THE RED LODGE 


6 9 

“Splendid!” was the answer. “Mary’s still away 
up North, but you’ll find me here, and Miss Seymour, 
too. What more could you want?” 

“Nothing,” assented Colin. “I was going to suggest 
that if you can get away this evening I should take you 
both out to a theatre.” 

“No chance of that,” replied Mark regretfully. 
“At least, not so far as I’m concerned. I might spare 
Miss Seymour if you’ll do something for me on your 
way here.” 

“What is it?” 

“I left an umbrella in a taxi last night, a very 
superior umbrella, with Mark Ashton engraved on the 
handle. If you’re driving down you might look in at 
the Lost Property Office and see whether it’s turned 
up.” 

“Right you are,” said Colin. “I shall be along in 
about an hour.” 

He hung up the receiver, and, putting away the 
Professor’s cigar in an inside pocket, donned his hat 
and coat and proceeded to leave the house. 

A little way down the hill, in a side mews off 
Vicarage Gardens, he had discovered a new garage, 
to which he had recently transferred his patronage. 
The car was ready for him, and a few minutes later 
he was seated at the driving wheel, skilfully threading 
his way through the crowded traffic that renders High 
Street, Kensington, such a stimulating thoroughfare. 

Big Ben was in the act of striking three as he arrived 
at Westminster Bridge. He pulled up outside the 
entrance to the Lost Property Office, and, pushing 


70 


THE RED LODGE ' 


open the swing door, advanced to the counter, where a 
stalwart constable was thoughtfully scratching his 
head with the stump of a pencil. 

Having listened in silence to Colin’s inquiry, the 
man got down from his seat and disappeared into 
the back regions, returning almost immediately with 
the umbrella in his hand. 

“You’ll have to sign your name here,” he an¬ 
nounced, pushing forward an official-looking paper. 

“And there’ll be two and sixpence reward for the 
driver.” 

Without entering upon any superfluous explana¬ 
tions, Colin paid over the desired sum, and, after 
neatly forging Mark’s signature, made his way back 
to the car. He was leaning over the side door, stor¬ 
ing away his trophy, when a gruff voice suddenly ad¬ 
dressed him from the pavement behind. 

“Doctor Gray, unless I’m much mistaken!” 

Turning round promptly, he found himself face to 
face with the burly, shrewd-eyed figure of Inspector 
Marsden. 

“I thought I was right,” continued the detective. 
“It’s part of my business to recognize people by their 
back view.” 

Colin gripped the large and efficient-looking hand 
which the speaker extended to him. 

“I’m awfully glad to see you again,” he said heart¬ 
ily. “I hope you’re none the worse for that little 
dust-up in the King’s Road?” 

“Still a bit sore in the ribs,” was the answer. “I 
fancy the beauty who got that kick in must have been 


THE RED LODGE 


7i 


a footballer at some time or other in his career. I’ll 
give him football if I ever find out which of ’em it 
was.” 

“How about our ginger-haired friend?” inquired 
Colin. “I’ve been expecting to hear every day that 
I was wanted as a witness.” 

“You’ll be wanted all right,” replied the Inspector. 
“He’s under remand at present, and I don’t suppose 
the case will come on for another month. There are 
several pretty black marks against Master Dick, and 
we hope to collect enough evidence to put him out of 
business for some considerable period.” He paused. 
“By the way,” he added, “if you’ve a few minutes to 
spare, come along up to our place and let me introduce 
you to one or two of the boys. I told them what you 
did for us the other day, and they’d be glad of the 
chance of shaking hands with you.” 

Knowing that Mark was unlikely to be free until 
four o’clock, Colin decided that he might as well ac¬ 
cept the invitation. He had never been inside 
Scotland Yard, and the prospect rather appealed to 
him. 

“What shall I do with the car?” he asked. “Leave 
it here?” 

“Better bring it into the yard,” said the Inspector. 
“No one will try to pinch it then—not unless he’s a 
bit of an optimist.” 

Getting into his seat, Colin started forward along¬ 
side his companion, and turned in through the big iron 
gates which guard the headquarters of the London 
Police Force. 


72 


THE RED LODGE 


There were several other cars standing against the 
wall, and, leaving his own in company with them, he 
followed the Inspector through a low doorway and up 
a long flight of stone stairs. 

They emerged into a broad corridor with doors on 
either side. 

“Here we are!” announced his guide, halting in 
front of the second. “I don’t know who’s on duty 
to-day, but we’re sure to find somebody about.” 

He led the way into a large, business-like apartment, 
the principal furniture of which consisted of a couple 
of roll-top desks. At one of them was seated an 
alert-looking man in a well-cut blue suit, who glanced 
up sharply at their entrance. 

“Hullo, Pat!” said the Inspector. “I’ve got some¬ 
one here I want to introduce you to. This is Doctor 
Gray of St. Christopher’s Hospital.” 

The other laid down his pen, and, rising from his 
chair, shook Colin’s hand. 

“You’re welcome, sir,” he said, with a distinctly 
Irish accent. “We have heard all about you from 
our friend Marsden. My name is O’Brien—Inspector 
Patrick O’Brien. I am pleased to have the privilege 
of making your acquaintance.” 

“It’s very nice of you to put it like that,” said Colin. 
“I don’t think I deserve any particular compliments, 
though. I only did what any one else would have done 
who had happened to be on the spot.” 

Both men smiled. 

“That may be your impression,” was the answer, 
“but you can take it from me that you’re a trifle off 


THE RED LODGE 


73 

the mark. Watching a police officer kicked to death 
is one of the public’s favourite entertainments.” 

“O’Brien comes from Dublin, you see,” put in Mars- 
den, “so you must make allowances for a touch of bit¬ 
terness.” He pulled forward a chair, and, thrusting 
his hand into his pocket, produced a large rubber 
pouch. “Make yourself comfortable and try a pipe 
of this tobacco, doctor,” he added. “It was given to 
me by a ship’s captain, and they don’t generally go far 
wrong—not from what I’ve seen of them.” 

Colin took the proffered seat, and, drawing out his 
briar, proceeded to fill it carefully with the fragrant 
brown flakes. 

“I’m rather interested in ‘Ginger Dick,’ ” he re¬ 
marked. “One would hardly take him for a Napoleon 
of crime, judging by his appearance.” 

“No, his looks aren’t anything to shout about,” 
agreed Marsden. “All the same, he’s a dangerous 
little devil if ever there was one. As I told you the 
other day, he’s in with all the lowest scum of the Turf, 
and, thanks to him and his crowd, there are several of 
our boys on the retired list, and likely to remain 
there.” 

“It never occurred to me before,” said Colin, “but 
I suppose there are healthier occupations than being 
a detective on a racecourse.” 

“You can back on that,” was O’Brien’s rejoinder. 
“I’ve had some of it myself, and, though I’m partial 
to what you may call an active life, I wasn’t exactly 
sorry when they shifted me to another department.” 

“Tell him some of your experiences, Pat,” suggested 


74 


THE RED LODGE 


Inspector Marsden. “It’s no use having a distin¬ 
guished guest if you don’t try to entertain him.” 

The Irishman, who apparently only needed this 
encouragement, plunged at once into a series of rem¬ 
iniscences, all dealing with that dark underworld of 
ruffianism which lurks furtively beneath the brilliant 
surface of racing. He told his stories well, and Colin, 
who knew little or nothing about the Turf, listened to 
him with absorbed interest. It was not, indeed, until 
the hands of the office clock were pointing to the half- 
hour that he reluctantly knocked out his pipe into the 
fireplace and rose from his chair. 

“I hate to break up this cheerful party,” he said 
truthfully, “but I’ve promised to be down in Shad- 
well by four, and I’ve got an unpleasant sort of feeling 
that I must be keeping you both from your work.” 

“Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” replied Mars¬ 
den, smiling. “I’m fixed here until midnight anyway, 
and, no matter how busy Pat is, he can always find 
time to talk.” 

“I want to hear some more of his reminiscences,” 
said Colin, “and yours, too. Perhaps if you could 
both get away together the same evening you would 
come out and feed with me? We could go to the 
Cheshire Cheese or somewhere like that. I can’t ask 
you to my place, because at present I’m acting as 
bottle-washer to Professor Carter.” 

“The Cheshire Cheese sounds all right to me,” said 
O’Brien approvingly. “You give us a ring when 
you’ve got a spare night, and we’ll try and fix it up.” 

“Things are getting altogether too one-sided,” 


THE RED LODGE 


75- 


objected Marsden. “Can’t you think of a little 
service we could do for you, doctor, just by way of 
a change?” 

Colin was on the point of making some laughing 
disclaimer, when an idea suddenly occurred to him. 

“Would it be a lot of trouble to get me some in¬ 
formation about a man I was introduced to the other 
day?” he asked. 

“Not a bit,” replied Marsden. “What’s his 
name?” 

“Fenton,” said Colin. “Major Fenton. He’s a 
chap of about forty-five, tall, clean-shaven, with rather 
a red face. All I know about him is that he has been 
a long time abroad, and that at present he is living in 
London and drives a Daimler car. It’s only a matter 
of personal curiosity, but if you could find out who he 
is and what sort of reputation he has I should be un¬ 
commonly grateful.” 

Marsden jotted down the particulars and folded up 
the paper. 

“That ought to be simple enough,” he replied. 
“I’ll hand this over to Ainsworth, who’s in charge 
of all that kind of thing, and if you look us up in about 
a week we shall probably be able to give you the 
gentleman’s life history.” 

Colin expressed his thanks, and, having shaken 
hands with each of them in turn, made his way back 
down the staircase and out into the main courtyard. 

Resuming his journey eastward, he followed the 
Embankment as far as Blackfriars Bridge, where he 
struck off through a maze of side streets, which eventu- 


THE RED LODGE 


76 

ally brought him out close to the grimy and retired 
tavern presided over by Mr. Higgins. 

The yard door was open, and a glance inside re¬ 
vealed the burly outline of the proprietor himself, 
engaged in the domestic task of washing his bull 
terrier. On hearing- the car he paused in his opera¬ 
tions and signalled to Colin to enter. 

“Bring ’er along in, mister,” he called out. “Bring 
’er along in, an’ look out for that bleedin’ bucket.” 

Carrying out these instructions successfully, Colin 
jerked forward over the cobblestones until he came to 
a halt alongside the seated figure. 

“Pleased to see yer,” continued Mr. Higgins, in a 
hospitable tone. “Quite a time since you was ’ere 
last, ain’t it?” 

“It’s getting on for a month,” admitted Colin, as 
he clambered out of the car. “In fact I’ve not been 
since the night I brought Miss Seymour.” 

At the mention of Nancy’s name the landlord’s 
mottled face wreathed itself into a smile. 

“Didn’t know then that you was goin’ to leave ’er 
be’ind yer,” he observed jocularly. “Thought you’d 
give us a kind of pleasant surprise, eh, guv’nor?” 

“That was the idea,” replied Colin. “I was just 
going to ask you if you’d seen anything of her.” 

“I done more than that,” was the proud rejoinder; 
“I’ve ’ad a talk with ’er, I ’ave. I ’appened to be 
outside when she come by last Thursday, an’ she 
stopped and chatted away as friendly as kiss me ’and. 
Ah, she’s one o’ the right sort, she is: no blarsted 
frills nor nonsense about ’er.” 


THE RED LODGE 


77 


“I suppose she’ll be quite safe going about alone?” 
said Colin. “People know she’s working for the doc¬ 
tor?” 

“Lor’ love yer, yus,” ejaculated Mr. Higgins. “No 
one wouldn’t interfere with ’er, not round ’ere. This 
ain’t the West End. We knows ’ow to be’ave our¬ 
selves in Shadwell.” 

“I’m just going along to the surgery now,” said 
Colin. “I’ll tell her some of the nice things you’ve 
been saying about her.” 

“You do,” was the answer. “An’ you can add, 
with my best respecks, mister, that if ever she’d hon¬ 
our this ’ouse by droppin’ in and takin’ a cup o’ tea, 
there’d be no prouder man than Bill ’Iggins, not in the 
’ole of London.” 

Five minutes later, with a pleasant tingle of antici¬ 
pation in his heart, Colin mounted the steps of Mark’s 
residence and jerked briskly at the bell. The door 
was opened by Martha Jane, the fat, grubby-faced 
little maid-of-all-work, who welcomed him with the 
grin of an old acquaintance. 

“You’ll find ’em hupstairs in the study,” she an¬ 
nounced, in answer to his inquiry. “I know they’re 
expectin’ you, ’cos the doctor told me not to bring tea 
till you came.” 

“Well, here I am,” said Colin. “Is there anything 
good to eat?” 

“I’m makin’ scones,” replied Martha Jane. “Some 
o’ them yaller ones, wot you gen’rally seems to fancy.” 

Colin stepped inside and deposited Mark’s um¬ 
brella in the hat stand. 


78 


THE RED LODGE 


“You push off and continue the good work,’* he 
remarked. “I’ll find my own way up.” 

Still grinning, Martha Jane closed the front door 
and shuffled along the passage toward the kitchen. 
Just as she disappeared there was a sound on the 
landing above and Mark’s spectacled face protruded 
itself over the banisters. 

“You’ve been a devil of a time coming,” he ob¬ 
served. “We were beginning to think you must have 
had a breakdown.” 

“I like that!” retorted Colin, struggling out of his 
overcoat. “Here have I been chasing all round Lon¬ 
don after your infernal umbrella-” 

“Oh, you’ve got it, have you?” interrupted Mark. 
“That’s topping. You don’t know how deeply in¬ 
debted I am to you.” 

“Yes, I do,” said Colin. “Exactly half-a-crown— 
what I had to give the cabman as a reward for his 
honesty.” 

Nancy’s face appeared suddenly beside that of 
her employer and smiled down at him in friendly 
welcome. 

“Please don’t start quarrelling about money,” she 
said pathetically. “I’m simply dying for a cup of 
tea.” 

There seemed to be something strangely familiar 
and attractive to Colin in the mere sound of her voice, 
and, running lightly up the staircase, he pressed both 
their'hands in a simultaneous greeting. 

“I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed. “I was forgetting 
the brutal way in which Mark always treats his staff. 



THE RED LODGE 


79 

I suppose he has been working you to death and half 
starving you at the same time.” 

“Of course I have,” declared Mark. “Look at her 
worn and haggard appearance.” 

“Well, we haven’t been exactly idle,” admitted 
Nancy, laughing. “All the same, I think I am bear¬ 
ing up pretty well.” 

Mark led the way into the study, where a table was 
already laid, and waved his hand toward the largest 
of the armchairs. 

“You take the seat of honour, Colin,” he said. 
“It’s a privilege we always keep for distinguished 
strangers.” 

“There’s no need to rub it in,” objected Colin. 
“I should have looked you up ages ago if it hadn’t 
been for my devotion to duty. This is the first holi¬ 
day I’ve had since I went to the Professor’s.” 

“How are you getting on?” asked Nancy. 

“Up to the present,” replied Colin modestly, “I 
think I have given what they call complete satisfac¬ 
tion.” 

“What’s the old man like?” demanded Mark. 
“Easy to live with?” 

Colin hesitated. “It all depends,” he answered. 
“We’ve managed to hit it off well enough, but then 
I’ve rather gone out of my way to humour his little 
weaknesses. He’s one of the sort that you’ve just 
got to take or leave. As long as you do exactly what 
he wants he’s kindness itself. If any one tried to 
oppose him or contradict him I should think he could 
be distinctly unpleasant.” 


8o 


THE RED LODGE 


“There must be a lot of people about like that,” 
said Nancy. “At least, I seem to have run up against 
a good few.” 

“And how do you stand with regard to the job?” 
inquired Mark. “I suppose he doesn’t let you into 
more secrets than he can possibly help?” 

“Oh, yes, he does,” replied Colin. “He lets me into 
everything. I’ve soaked up so much knowledge the 
last three weeks that I’m beginning to wonder whether 
there’s anything left to learn.” 

Mark gazed at him with a certain amount of in¬ 
credulity. “Do you mean to say that if he died to¬ 
morrow you would be in a position to carry on his 
work?” 

“I’d have a damn good shot at it, anyway,” declared 
Colin. “Of course, I haven’t a quarter of his ability, 
but he’s discussed all his ideas with me, and explained 
them in such detail that if I couldn’t make something 
or other out of them I should be next door to an 
idiot.” 

Mark turned to Nancy and nodded his head. “It’s 
panning out just as I prophesied,” he said sadly. “We 
sha’n’t see much more of him at Shadwell. Before we 
can look round he’ll be splashing about in a Rolls- 

Royce and-” 

His prediction was cut short by the sudden appear¬ 
ance of Martha Jane, who lurched in through the 
doorway carrying a large tray and breathing some¬ 
what heavily from her exertions. 

“I vote that we adjourn the discussion of my 
future,” suggested Colin, as they pulled up their chairs 



THE RED LODGE 


81 


round the table. “It’s your private affairs that inter¬ 
est me, Mark. As the person responsible for the 
engagement I want to know whether you are pleased 
yfith your new assistant.” 

Nancy, who had seated herself in front of the tray, 
paused with the teapot in mid-air. 

“This is very embarrassing,” she observed. “Hadn’t 
I better leave the room for a few moments?” 

“You go on pouring out,” said Mark firmly. “You 
can blush just as well here as in the passage.” He 
helped himself to a scone and pushed the plate across 
the table toward Colin. “When you told us you’d 
found an angel, my lad,” he continued, “you were 
speaking the literal truth. I had no idea that there 
was another such woman in the world apart from 
Mary.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” interrupted Nancy hastily. 
“The truth is that both he and Mrs. Ashton are so 
ridiculously good-natured that they hadn’t the heart 
to turn me away.” 

“I know Mary’s opinion already,” said Colin. “I 
had a touching little letter from her just before she 
went North. She seems to regard me as a highly suc¬ 
cessful understudy of Providence.” 

“And, by Gad, it’s true!” broke in Mark with en¬ 
thusiasm. “I should have been absolutely in the soup 
without Miss Seymour. She’s simply splendid, Colin. 
Down here at nine o’clock every morning, and work¬ 
ing away like a galley slave until seven or eight in the 
evening.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m paid for,” objected Nancy. 


82 


THE RED LODGE 


“And, besides, I don’t look on it as work. I so enjoy 
the feeling that I’m doing something useful, instead 
of sitting all day typing out a lot of stories that nobody 
wants to read.” 

“What do the patients think of the arrangement?” 
asked Colin. “I gathered from Mr. Higgins that 
it’s one of the principal topics of local interest.” 

“It’s been the best advertisement I ever had,” re¬ 
plied Mark, with a chuckle. “I was a little doubtful 
at first, so I’ve told everybody that Miss Seymour 
and Mary are first cousins. We’re rather strong on 
the conventions in Shadwell, and that put everything 
on a nice, respectable footing.” 

“I don’t like tampering with the truth,” said Colin. 
“All the same, it has its advantages at times.” 
He glanced mischievously at Nancy. “In future, for 
instance,” he added, “it will be obviously necessary 
that we should both address you by your Christian 
name.” 

Nancy laughed. “I never thought of that,” she' 
said. “It shows how unaccustomed I am to anything 
in the nature of deception.” 

“You’ll soon improve,” returned Colin hopefully. 
“It’s wonderful what one can do after a month or 
two with the medical profession.” He leaned for¬ 
ward and selected another scone from the rapidly 
dwindling pile. “Now what about that theatre idea 
of mine?” he continued. “Can’t you possibly manage 
it, Mark? I’ll do the thing in a really generous way 1 
—stand you dinner and seats and drive you both home 
in the car afterward.” 


THE RED LODGE 


83 

Mark shook his head reluctantly. “I’d come like 
a shot if I could,” he replied, “but I’ve about twenty 
prescriptions to make up and a dozen cases to at¬ 
tend to.” He paused. “All the same,” he added, 
“there’s no earthly reason why you shouldn’t take 
Miss Seymour.” 

“Oh, that’s not fair,” protested Nancy. “I can’t 
go off and leave you to do all the work.” 

Mark folded his arms. “There’s only one thing 
I demand from my staff,” he observed sternly, “and 
that is complete and unquestioning obedience.” He 
turned to Colin. “What you both want,” he added, 
“is some fresh air and a little healthy amusement. 
Why not have a run out into the country first? It’s 
a fine evening, and you can get back up West in plenty 
of time for the theatre.” 

“Now I call that a jolly bright notion!” exclaimed 
Colin. “What do you say, Cousin Nancy?” 

“It sounds most tempting,” agreed Nancy. “All 
the same, I think it would be horribly selfish. I am 
sure that if any one needs an evening off it’s the doctor. 
The last thing I promised Mrs. Ashton was not to 
allow him to overwork.” 

“I am the head of the family,” insisted Mark, “and 
my orders are that you leave this house directly you’ve 
finished tea. Take her for a good long spin to start 
with, Colin, give her a nice dinner, and then get seats 
for something really frivolous and cheerful. That’s 
my prescription, and I depend on you to see that it’s 
properly administered.” 


8 4 


THE RED LODGE 


With hex 4 eyes shining, and her cheeks flushed by 
the wind, Nancy stepped out of the car on to the 
comparatively deserted pavement of Whitcomb 
Street. 

“Oh!” she said with a faint sigh. “That was simply 
heavenly!” 

Colin, who had jumped down first to open the door, 
looked at her with an approving twinkle. 

“Not bad, was it?” he agreed. “We’ve only been 
an hour and a half and we must have done at least 
forty miles.” 

He glanced round in the direction of the Motor 
Club, outside which they had alighted, and at the 
same moment a broad-shouldered, seedy-looking gen¬ 
tleman in a dilapidated ulster suddenly appeared out 
of the darkness. 

“Oh, there you are, Joe,” he continued. “I want 
you to look after the car for me. We’re dining and 
going to a theatre, so I don’t suppose I shall be back 
until half-past eleven.” 

“That’s all right, sir,” replied Joe comfortingly. 
“You’ll find me ’ere, no matter wot time you come.” 

“Now, where shall we make for?” inquired Colin,' 
turning to Nancy. “Unless you’ve any particular 
choice I suggest Romano’s and the Vaudeville.” 

Nancy looked a little doubtful. “I’m thinking of 
my clothes,” she explained. “I’m not fit to go any¬ 
where really smart.” 

Colin studied her critically. “Don’t you believe 
it,” he said. “You could walk straight into Paradise 
without even tidying up.” 


THE RED LODGE 


85 

He slipped half-a-crown into Joe’s hand, and, tak¬ 
ing Nancy firmly by the elbow, piloted her across the 
street in the direction of Leicester Square. 

Ten minutes later, escorted by a sympathetic man¬ 
ager, they were making their way toward a small 
table in the balcony of the famous Strand restaurant. 

“You order the dinner,” said Nancy, as they took 
their seats. “I always enjoy things much more if 
somebody else chooses them.” 

She leaned forward in her chair and looked down 
contentedly at the animated scene below, while Colin 
picked up the menu and studied it with becoming 
gravity. 

“I think we’ll have a little clear soup to start with,” 
he began, “followed by sole a la bonne femme, a roast 
grouse, and iced meringues.” He paused. “Do 
you prefer champagne or sparkling Moselle?” 

“I don’t know,” said Nancy frankly. “I’ve never 
tasted either of them.” 

“We’ll have a half bottle of both then,” said Colin. 
“You can try them and see which you like best, and 
I’ll drink the other.” 

“By the way,” he added, as the waiter hurried off 
with the order, “have you been seeing anything of that 
friend of yours, Major Fenton—the chap you intro¬ 
duced me to in Jubilee Place?” 

For a moment Nancy remained silent. 

“Why do you ask me that?” she inquired. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Colin casually. “It just 
happened to come into my head.” 

She paused again. “He has been round at the 


86 


THE RED LODGE 


studio two or three evenings,” she said slowly. “As 
a matter of fact, he was there last night.” 

“I suppose he’s heard all about your new job?” 

She nodded. “Doctor Gray-” she began. 

“Make it Colin,” he interrupted. “I can’t call you 
Nancy unless you back me up.” 

“Well, Colin, then-” She hesitated once more. 

“There’s something I think I ought to tell you about 
Major Fenton, only—only it’s horribly difficult for 
me to know how to put it.” 

“Wait until you’ve had some dinner,” he suggested. 
“No one talks comfortably when they’re half starv¬ 
ing.” 

She shook her head. “No, now I’ve started I 
think I’d better go on and get it over. The first 
time I saw Major Fenton after we met him together 
he naturally asked me who you were. I told him 
what I knew about you and how we’d become ac¬ 
quainted, and, although he didn’t say much, he seemed 
to think that I’d done wrong in asking you back to my 
studio. I suppose in a way he looks on himself as a 
sort of guardian of mine.” 

“Perhaps he does,” said Colin gravely. “People 
who have lived a long time in hot climates often suf¬ 
fer from hallucinations!” 

“That didn’t matter,” continued Nancy, “but last 
night when he came round he spoke about you again, 
and this time he said something that made me really 
angry—something that I’m perfectly sure isn’t true.” 

Colin was leaning toward her, his gray eyes alight 
with interest. 




THE RED LODGE 


87 


“What was it?” he demanded briefly. 

“He—well, he didn’t put it quite definitely, but he 
hinted that you were not the sort of man to make 
a friend of; that you were leaving the hospital on 
account of some dreadful scandal about one of the 
nurses.” 

For a second Colin stared at her in blank amaze¬ 
ment. Then he suddenly broke into a peal of laugh¬ 
ter. 

“Good heavens, Nancy!” he exclaimed. “If you’d 
only seen ’em!” 

“I didn’t believe it, of course,” she went on hur¬ 
riedly. “I was certain he must be making some stupid 
mistake.” 

Colin’s lips tightened. “I object to people making 
mistakes of that sort about me,” he observed rather 
grimly. 

Before Nancy could reply the waiter arrived with 
the soup, followed a moment later by another, who 
proceeded to uncork and pour out the wine. 

“You mustn’t take it too seriously,” she continued, 
as soon as they were alone again. “It was a detest¬ 
able thing of Major Fenton to say, but I don’t think 
he meant any real harm by it. He explained that 
he’d heard the story from somebody at his club, and 
that he’d only repeated it to me because he felt that 
it was his duty. As I told you before, just because he 
once knew my father, he seems to have some ridicu¬ 
lous notion that he ought to look after me.” 

Colin, who had been sprinkling a little pepper into 
his soup, looked up with a smile. 


88 


THE RED LODGE 


“Well, don’t let’s waste our time discussing it any 
more,” he said cheerfully. “It’s just a silly lie, and, 
anyway, there are lots of much pleasanter things to 
talk about.” He raised his glass. “I’m going to 
propose the health of our old pal ‘Ginger Dick.’ He 
may have his faults, but, after all, if it wasn’t for him 
we shouldn’t be sitting here now.” 

“That’s true,” agreed Nancy. “Here’s to ‘Gin¬ 
ger Dick.’ ” She took a long sip and then set down 
her glass. “If that’s sparkling Moselle,” she added 
thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’ll bother about tasting 
the champagne.” 


At about twenty minutes before midnight, faithful 
to his pledged word, the reliable Joe slouched forward 
out of the shadows and greeted them with a friendly 
salute. 

“ ’Ere we are, guv’nor,” he announced. “All ready 
an’ waitin’ for yer, as the grave-digger said.” 

He opened the door of the car for Nancy, and, 
making his way round to the front, succeeded after 
two or three abortive efforts in starting up the engine. 

“She’s a bit cold, like meself,” he continued. “It’s 
bin freezin’ crool ’ard all the evenin’, an’ I reckon we 
both got a touch of it in our innards.” 

“You must follow it up with something hot,” said 
Colin, handing him another half-crown. “Rum’s the 
best as long as you don’t put too much water into it.” 

“I ain’t likely to,” replied Joe, with a grin. “There’s 


THE RED LODGE 89 

quite enough o’ that done before we gets the blarsted 
stuff.” 

He pocketed the coin, and, closing the door after 
them, stepped back on to the pavement. 

“Good-night, sir, an’ thank yer kindly. Good¬ 
night, miss, an’ Gawd bless yer both.” 

“I like Joe,” said Nancy, as they slid out into the 
glare and tumult of Piccadilly Circus. “Is that his pro¬ 
fession—standing there all night looking after cars?” 

“That’s his present profession,” replied Colin, “but 
he’s what you might call come down in the world. 
Before he took to drink he used to be one of the best 
middle-weight boxers in England.” 

Nancy opened her blue eyes to their fullest extent. 

“A prize-fighter?” she exclaimed. 

Colin nodded. “Joe Bates of Wapping. One of 
the gamest men who ever stepped into a ring.” 

“What made him take to drink?” inquired Nancy. 

“I think it was chiefly the death of his wife,” said 
Colin. “Anyhow, he went all to pieces about two 
years ago, and ended up by getting run over in the 
Fulham Road. They brought him along to St. Chris¬ 
topher’s, where we managed to patch him up. I felt 
sorry for the poor chap, and when he came out I got 
him that job at the Motor Club. As people go, I 
think he’s by way of being rather grateful.” 

He swung clear of the traffic outside the Ritz, and 
with a warning bark from the horn the little car 
leaped forward down the long, brilliantly lit slope. 

Turning up her coat collar with one hand, Nancy 
settled herself contentedly in her seat. 


90 


THE RED LODGE 


“It’s been a most exciting evening,” she said. “I’ve 
enjoyed every single minute of it.” 

“So have I,” agreed Colin with enthusiasm. “What 
do you say to repeating the experiment next week?” 

“Only on one condition,” replied Nancy. “I’ve got 
to take my turn in paying for dinner.” 

“But that’s absurd!” protested Colin. “I’m a 
great deal richer than you are.” 

“No, you’re not,” was the indignant answer. “Why, 
I’m simply rolling in money. I’ve no expenses now 
except the rent of my studio, and Doctor Ashton pays 
me at least twice what I’m worth.” 

“I don’t believe that,” said Colin. “Still, if you’re 
determined to be proud and ostentatious I suppose you 
must have your way.” 

He swerved to the left behind St. George’s Hos¬ 
pital, and, cutting through the select precincts of Bel- 
grave Square, came out within a few yards of the 
King’s Road. In another minute they were turning 
the corner into Jubilee Place. 

“Next week’s a bargain, then,” said Colin, as they 
stood facing each other on the empty pavement. 
“It’s no good trying to fix a day at present; I’ll just 
ring up one morning and we’ll arrange it over the 
’phone.” 

Nancy nodded. “That will be best,” she said. 
“You mustn’t desert the Professor—not unless he can 
manage all right without you.” 

She gave him her hand, which Colin squeezed in a 
friendly grip. 

“Good-night, Nancy,” he said. “Sleep well, and 


THE RED LODGE 


91 

when you see Mark, tell him that for once in his life 
he actually prescribed the right treatment.” 

He waited until the front door had closed behind 
her, and then, having lit himself a cigarette, climbed 
back into the car, and started off again in the direction 
of Campden Hill. 

It was a few minutes after midnight when he let 
himself in at the outer gate of the Red Lodge. The 
light was still burning in the hall, and, knowing from 
experience that the Professor frequently continued his 
work until the early hours of the morning, he walked 
straight through to the laboratory and tapped lightly 
on the door. 

As he half expected, there was a creak of footsteps 
inside, and the Professor himself, wearing an old 
Jaeger dressing gown, appeared on the threshold. At 
the same moment a peculiarly acrid and unpleasant 
smell drifted past him into the passage. 

“So you’ve come back, eh?” he said in his queer, 
high-pitched voice. “I hope you enjoyed your eve¬ 
ning?” 

“I didn’t do badly,” replied Colin. “I went to 
Shadwell, saw my friends, had a forty-mile run in the 
car, and finished up with a dinner and a theatre.” 

The old man nodded grimly. “It sounds rather an 
exhausting form of recreation. I should imagine that 
after all that you must be quite ready for your bed.” 

“Oh, I’m not tired,” said Colin, “not in the slight¬ 
est. If you’ve got anything on hand I should like to 
come in and make myself useful.” 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” returned the Pro- 


92 


THE RED LODGE 


lessor. “You will help yourself to a whisky and soda, 
and then you will go straight upstairs to your room.” 

Colin hesitated. “And how about you, sir? Surely 
you’ve done enough work for to-day?” 

“I shall be following you shortly,” was the answer. 
“I am only waiting to see the result of a small experi¬ 
ment.” 

He nodded a curt good-night, and, stepping back 
again into the laboratory, closed the door behind him. 

Dismissed in this unceremonious fashion, Colin 
made his way into the dining room, where he found 
a plate of sandwiches and a siphon set out ready for 
him on a tray. It was unthinkable that such an idea 
could have occurred to the unaided intelligence of 
Mrs. Ramsay, and, rather surprised at the Professor’s 
consideration, he proceeded to mix a drink, which he 
carried with him up the staircase. 

His room was situated on the first floor—a large, 
comfortable apartment looking out toward the back. 
It had been fitted up since his arrival with a gas stove, 
and, having lighted this and placed his tumbler upon 
the dressing table, he began in a leisurely fashion to 
get ready for bed. 

The chief subject that occupied his thoughts was the 
revelation which Nancy had made to him at dinner. 
What on earth had induced Major Fenton to concoct 
that ridiculous story about a scandal at St. Christo¬ 
pher’s Hospital? That it was an invention of his 
own Colin felt certain, and no man would take the 
responsibility of fathering such a lie unless he had 
some particularly strong object in view. 


THE RED LODGE 


93 


Could he have fallen in love with Nancy himself? 
If that were the case it would certainly supply a pos¬ 
sible motive. Passion has a queer effect upon some 
characters, and the mere thought of her making 
friends with any one else might have filled him with 
such furious resentment that he had clutched at the first 
conceivable chance of breaking off their acquaintance. 

It was a likely enough solution; and yet, somehow 
or other, it left Colin unconvinced. He had carried 
away a very unfavourable impression of Nancy’s 
self-adopted guardian, but it was an impression that 
declined to fit in with this otherwise plausible theory. 
Unless his judgment were badly at fault, there was a 
hard, calculating selfishness stamped upon every line 
of the man’s face. People of that sort are not swept 
off their feet by sudden outbursts of romantic jealousy, 
nor—which was another and extremely significant con¬ 
sideration—do they concern themselves unduly over 
the welfare of a dead friend’s offspring. 

It was this latter point, indeed, which puzzled Colin 
completely. He felt convinced that Major Fenton 
must have had some secret purpose in hunting Nancy 
out and practically forcing his acquaintance upon her. 
His story about a twenty-year-old friendship with her 
father would have sounded well enough in a senti¬ 
mental novel, but having seen the gentleman for him¬ 
self, and having had an illuminating example of his 
ideas of honour and fair play, Colin found the ex¬ 
planation uncommonly difficult to swallow. 

Perhaps Inspector Marsden and his colleagues at 
the Yard would be able to throw some light on the 


94 


THE RED LODGE 


problem. It would be interesting at least to know a 
little about the Major’s career, and whether his past 
record was at all in keeping with this sudden excursion 
into philanthropy. 

There was another possible source of information 
in the person of Mr. Medwin. The two men were 
certainly acquainted, otherwise Fenton’s photograph 
would not have been adorning the mantelpiece in 
Albert Terrace. When he visited the house again he 
could easily find an opportunity to make some casual 
inquiry concerning the original, only it must be done in 
a sufficiently tactful manner not to arouse the lawyer’s 
curiosity. 

In any case, this alternative course could be post¬ 
poned until he had received the Inspector’s report. 
The odds were that, if there was really anything shady 
in Fenton’s history, Marsden would succeed in un¬ 
earthing it, and since Nancy seemed to be thoroughly 
capable of looking after herself, another week’s delay 
was not likely to produce any tragical consequences. 

With this consoling reflection Colin donned his 
pyjamas, and, turning out the fire, clambered into 
bed. He was just in that pleasantly drowsy stage 
when one feels half reluctant to fall asleep, and, lying 
there with the light on, he allowed his thoughts to 
drift back contentedly over the various details of his 
two meetings with Nancy. 

It was an agreeable occupation, and the longer he 
indulged in it the more he began to realize what a very 
necessary part of his life she had already become. 
A kind of instinctive friendship seemed to have sprung 


THE RED LODGE 


95 


up between them at their first encounter, and, although 
he had been unable to see her again until to-day, the 
interval had certainly not succeeded in making the 
faintest difference. 

She was a girl in a thousand, there was no doubt 
about that! Mark evidently thought so, and, since 
he compared all women with Mary, his standard was 
about as high as any one could reasonably demand. 
How enchantingly pretty she had looked as they had 
sat opposite to each other at dinner. He had only 
to shut his eyes and- 

Hullo! What the devil was that? 

The sound had come from somewhere down below 
—a queer, half-deadened noise, like the distant crash 
of breaking glass. 

In a second Colin was out of bed and had flung 
open the door. The lights were still burning exactly 
as he had left them, and, striding to the banisters, he 
peered over into the hall. Nothing seemed to be 
stirring; except for the steady ticking of the grand¬ 
father clock the whole house was as silent as a tomb. 

With a momentary feeling of relief he moved 
toward the staircase. It was probably only some 
small accident; the Professor had most likely dropped 
a tumbler or broken a retort, and in the stillness of the 
night the noise had been naturally exaggerated. All 
the same, it would be just as well to have a look round. 

Running lightly down in his bare feet, he crossed 
the hall and knocked at the laboratory door. 

“It’s I—Gray,” he called out. “Anything wrong, 
sir?” 



9 6 


THE RED LODGE 


As he spoke he turned the handle, and the next 
moment he found himself standing in the open door^ 
way, staring blankly in front of him. 

The room was empty. 

For the first time a real sense of misgiving suddenly 
took possession of him. He wheeled sharply round, 
and, hurrying back through the hall, rapped loudly 
at the door of the study. 

“Mr. Carter,” he shouted, “are you there?” 

There was no answer. 

He caught hold of the brass knob, only to make 
another and still more ominous discovery. Some¬ 
body had turned the key from inside. 

With a quick breath he stepped back a couple of 
paces, and then, hunching up his shoulder, hurled 
himself against the panel. Under the impact of 
twelve stone and a few odd pounds the lock gave with 
a splintering crash which echoed through the house. 
The door swung open, and at the same moment the 
shrill scream of a terrified woman rang out from the 
top landing. 

Clutching the broken woodwork to steady himself, 
Colin fumbled for the switch. His fingers closed 
on it in the darkness and, half prepared as he was 
for some horror, an involuntary cry broke from his 
lips as the whole room flared suddenly into light. 

Face upward, in the centre of the French windows, 
lay the huddled figure of the Professor. One arm was 
Iwisted under him, and his white hair was dabbled in 
a stream of blood which still oozed slowly from a gap¬ 
ing wound in his forehead. 


CHAPTER FIVE 


At THE sight of that hideous injury, all Colin’s pro¬ 
fessional training instinctively asserted itself. Let¬ 
ting go the switch, he sprang forward, and, heedless 
of the blood and broken glass, dropped down on one 
knee beside the prostrate body. 

It needed no medical knowledge to see that the 
case was hopeless. A terrific blow from some blunt 
instrument had smashed the whole front of the skull, 
and portions of the crushed and bleeding brain were 
even now protruding from the wound. Death must 
have come with merciful abruptness—a sudden and 
utter annihilation of every sense and feeling. 

Almost dazed by the blast of fury that swept 
through him, Colin stumbled to his feet. He glanced 
wildly round the room, and the broken French win¬ 
dow, one half of which was standing open, immedi¬ 
ately caught his eye. Since the door had been locked 
from inside, it was the only way by which the murderer 
could have escaped. He had evidently darted through 
into the garden with the intention of climbing the wall, 
and, moved by a desperate hope, Colin stepped across 
the dead body and ran out on to the lawn. A flood 
of moonlight, streaming in through the bare trees, lit 
up the whole desolate expanse of grass and shrubs. 
Everything was perfectly still, and, except for the 
97 


THE RED LODGE 


98 

faint rumbling of a cart in the distance, the entire 
neighbourhood seemed to be plunged in absolute si¬ 
lence. 

He was listening intently, with his eyes on the black 
line of bushes opposite, when a slight noise in the 
room behind attracted his attention. He turned 
round instantly, and through the window he caught 
sight of the panic-stricken figure of Mrs. Ramsay 
peering in at the open doorway. 

As he moved forward into the light she uttered a 
stifled scream. 

“Don’t be frightened,” he said quickly. “It’s I— 
Doctor Gray.” 

Clutching at her dressing-gown with one hand, she 
pointed a trembling finger toward the body. 

“Oh, my Gawd, sir,” she gasped, “what is it? 
What’s been happening?” 

Colin stood in the window, his face white and set. 

“The Professor has been murdered,” he said. 

She stared at him for a moment, as though his words 
conveyed no meaning; then with a pitiful sound, like 
the whimpering of a beaten dog, she staggered back 
against the wall. 

Colin strode forward and took her by the arm. 

“You must pull yourself together,” he said curtly. 
“This is no time for hysterics. I want your help— 
now—at once.” 

As he expected, his almost brutal words had the 
desired result. She stopped crying, and once more 
her terrified glance travelled round in the direction of 
the dead man. 


THE RED LODGE 


99 


“Who—who killed him?” 

Colin shook his head. “I don’t know. When I 
came down the study door was locked from inside. 
I broke it open and found him lying here—like this.” 

“It must have been the same man,” she whispered; 
“the one who tried to burgle his desk.” She caught 
hold of Colin’s sleeve, and looked up imploringly into 
his face. “Oh, sir, can’t nothing be done? Isn’t 
there-” 

“I am going to telephone to the police. While I’m 
doing it I want you to stand outside in the hall, so that 
you can see into the room. If you hear the smallest 
sound or movement in the garden call to me at once.” 

She gazed fearfully toward the broken window. 

“Do you think he’s out there, sir, hiding in the 
bushes?” 

“I think he’s a quarter of a mile away by this time. 
All the same, until the police arrive the room mustn’t 
be left unwatched for a single moment.” 

He waited until she had obeyed his instructions, 
and then, with a final glance round, walked swiftly 
down the passage and took off the receiver. 

“Get me on to Scotland Yard as soon as possible,” 
he said. 

There was a note of urgency in his demand which 
must have carried conviction even to the mind of the 
clerk, for in something less than ten seconds the reply 
came. 

“Scotland Yard speaking. Who’s that?” 

“Dr. Colin Gray. Can you tell me if Inspector 
Marsden is still there?” 



100 


THE RED LODGE 


“I think so. Hold on a minute and I’ll find out. 1 * 

A pause followed. 

‘‘Hullo!” exclaimed a voice. “Em Marsden. What’s 
the matter, doctor? I didn’t expect to hear from 
you again at this time of night.” 

“It’s a bad business,” said Colin quietly. “I’m 
speaking from the Red Lodge, Campden Hill. I have 
just found Professor Carter lying dead in his study.” 

“Dead!” came the sharp rejoinder. “How did he 
die?” 

“He has been murdered.” 

He heard a sudden exclamation at the other end of 
the wire. 

“Murdered! Good God, doctor! Are you cer¬ 
tain of what you’re saying?” 

“Perfectly certain. He has been murdered by some 
man who broke into the house after I had gone to bed. 
The whole front of his skull has been smashed to 
pieces.” 

There was a brief silence, followed by a few indis¬ 
tinct words, as though Marsden had turned round and 
was addressing someone else. Then his voice came 
again, clear and peremptory. 

“When did this happen?” 

“About six or seven minutes ago.” 

“How did the man escape?” 

“I think he ran out into the garden and climbed over 
the wall.” ~ 

“Is there any one else in the house besides you?” 

“There are two old servants. One of them is 
watching the room now.” 


THE RED LODGE 


IOI 


“You had better go back yourself, and stop there 
until we arrive. Leave everything exactly as you 
found it. Don’t disturb the body and don’t touch 
or move a single object. We shall be with you in a 
quarter of an hour. Do you quite understand?” 

“Quite,” said Colin. 

He hung up the receiver as the detective rang off, 
and, shivering slightly from the cold, made his way 
back to where he had left the housekeeper. 

“They’re coming down almost at once,” he said. 
“I’ll wait here and let them in.” 

She moved back, as though glad to escape from the 
sight of the room. 

“Then I’d better go up and get your dressing 
gown,” she replied. “You’ll catch your death stand¬ 
ing about like that with nothing on.” 

Colin nodded gratefully. “You might fetch me 
some slippers, too, while you’re about it,” he said. 
“You’ll find a pair alongside the bed. I turned out 
in such a hurry I forgot to put them on.” 

With trembling steps and holding tightly to the 
banisters, Mrs. Ramsay slowly ascended the staircase. 
She returned in a few minutes carrying the desired 
articles, and, stepping forward to meet her, Colin took 
them from her hands. 

“Thanks so much,” he exclaimed. “Now I think 
the best thing you can do is to get back to your room. 
I expect the police will want to see you when they 
come, but until then-” 

Mrs. Ramsay shook her head. 

“It wouldn’t be no use, sir. I couldn’t close my 



102 


THE RED LODGE 


eyes, not if you was to offer me a thousand pounds.” 
She turned again toward the stairs. “Besides, there’s 
Mrs. Wilson—the cook, you know, sir. I’ve got to 
go and look after her.” 

“What’s the matter? Is she ill?” demanded Colin. 

“I heard her screaming,” was the answer. “I 
shouldn’t wonder if anything had happened, what with 
being woke up sudden and her having a weak heart.” 

“People don’t often die from shock,” said Colin. 
“Take her up a drop of brandy out of the dining room, 
and you had better have a little yourself at the same 
time.” 

He thrust his feet into the slippers, and, putting on 
his dressing gown, reentered the study. 

Unlike most people whose ideas on the subject are 
drawn chiefly from sensational novels, Colin knew 
that the surest way of assisting a criminal was for 
some well-meaning amateur to conduct a few prelim¬ 
inary investigations before the arrival of the police. 
During his four years at the hospital he had twice been 
called upon to give evidence in cases of murder, and 
the experience had convinced him that it was only 
when a properly qualified detective was first in the 
field that any really valuable clues were likely to be 
forthcoming. Marsden’s urgent instructions over the 
telephone had therefore been unnecessary; even with¬ 
out them he would certainly have waited for the In¬ 
spector’s appearance before attempting any further 
interference with the existing condition of the room. 

He walked across to where the Professor was lying 
and looked down again at the body. The sight filled 


THE RED LODGE 


103 


him with a mingled grief and anger that were almost 
unbearable. He had revered the dead man with all 
the ardour of a disciple, and, in addition to this 
lifelong homage, their close intimacy during the last 
few weeks had produced other and still stronger ties. 
In spite of the old scientist’s rather dictatorial 
manner, his attitude throughout had been so extra¬ 
ordinarily kind and generous that a very real if half¬ 
unconscious affection for him had gradually sprung 
up in Colin’s heart. The thought that the murder 
had been committed while he was actually in the house 
only increased the horror and bitterness of the whole 
affair. No excuses could alter his feeling that he had 
failed miserably—failed in the very duty for which 
he had been selected and employed. 

Self-reproaches, however, were of little use now, 
and with a tremendous effort he wrenched his mind 
back to the immediate problem that confronted it. 
Why, in God’s name, should any one have wished to 
kill the Professor, and how had it come about that 
the latter’s body was lying where it did? In order 
to reach the study from the laboratory one had to 
pass through the whole length of the hall. Colin’s 
hearing was particularly acute, and he felt positive 
that the creak of footsteps or the opening or shutting 
of a door would instantly have attracted his attention. 
Nothing of the sort had happened. Until that one 
crash of breaking glass the whole house had been 
absolutely silent. 

His eyes fell upon the damaged lock, and another 
question suddenly presented itself. Who had been 


104 


THE RED LODGE 


responsible for turning the key? Surely it could not 
have been the Professor. If he had entered the room 
expecting to find it empty, what conceivable reason 
could he have had for fastening himself in? If, on 
the other hand, he had entertained even the remotest 
suspicion that somebody was hiding on the premises, 
he would certainly have come upstairs before attempt¬ 
ing to approach the study. 

It seemed more likely that the murderer had locked 
the door after committing the crime, so that he might 
have a better chance of making his escape. There 
was a coolness about the proceeding which suggested 
that he was fully aware of Colin’s presence in the 
house, and a conviction that the whole thing had been 
planned and carried out with the most cold-blooded 
deliberation forced itself gradually upon the young 
surgeon’s mind. 

Had Mrs. Ramsay been right? Was it the same 
man who had ransacked the Professor’s desk? 

If it were so—and all the circumstances seemed to 
point to that conclusion—burglary and not murder 
had probably been the real object of his visit. There 
was evidently something in the place, some document 
or paper, of which he was desperately anxious to 
obtain possession. Having failed to find it at his 
first attempt, he had apparently returned to the house 
a second time in order to make another and more ex¬ 
haustive search. 

By some fatal chance the Professor must have taken 
it into his head to enter the study just after the in¬ 
truder had succeeded in gaining admittance. On find- 


THE RED LODGE 


105 


mg the window open he had naturally stepped forward 
to close it, only to receive a murderous blow out of 
the darkness, which had sent him crashing into the 
glass. 

The one fact which refused to fit in with this theory 
was the entire absence of any sound right up to the 
actual moment of the crime. There must, of course, 
be some explanation, and Colin was puzzling his brains 
in a vain attempt to discover it when the loud peal 
of a bell suddenly jangled out from the kitchen. 

Just pausing to gather his dressing gown about him, 
he hurried down the passageway to the outer door, 
which he unfastened and opened. A large car was 
drawn up in the roadway, and five men, two of them 
uniformed constables, were standing in a group on the 
pavement. 

Inspector Marsden, who was in the centre, immedi¬ 
ately came forward. 

“Well, what’s happened, doctor?” he inquired 
curtly. “Anything fresh to report?” 

Colin shook his head. “Only what I told you over 
the telephone,” he replied. “The Professor is dead, 
and the man who murdered him has escaped.” 

“That’s enough to go on with, anyhow,” returned 
the detective. “Jackson, you and Roberts stop here 
for the present. If any one attempts to leave the 
house arrest them at once.” 

With an obedient salute the two constables fell back, 
and, followed by his other companions, Marsden 
mounted the steps. 

“This is Doctor Sinclair, our divisional surgeon,” he 


io 6 


THE RED LODGE 


announced. “He tells me that he has already had the 
pleasure of meeting you.” 

Colin shook hands with a tall, gray-bearded man, 
whose face seemed vaguely familiar. 

“And this,” continued the Inspector, “is Detective 
Sergeant Humphries, of the Finger Print Department. 
Now I think the first thing we’ll do is to go in and 
have a look at the body. I’ll take your statement 
as soon as the doctor has finished his examination.” 

Without offering any comment, Colin conducted 
them down the corridor, and, leading the way across 
the hall, brought them to the door of the study. 

Marsden halted in the entrance, and stood staring 
silently at the tragic spectacle in front of him. 

“You followed my instructions?” he asked. “Ev¬ 
erything is exactly as you found it!” 

“Exactly,” said Colin. 

“Then I’ll ask you two gentlemen to wait here 
for a moment. There’s just one point I should like 
to make certain about before any one touches the 
body.” 

He pulled out a notebook from his inside pocket, 
and, beckoning to his colleague stepped forward into 
the room. 

Doctor Sinclair moved across to where Colin was 
standing. 

“I don’t suppose you remember me,” he said, “but 
I called in at St. Christopher’s last year in connection 
with one of your cases.” He nodded toward the 
two detectives, both of whom were kneeling down be¬ 
side the dead man. “This is a very terrible business,” 


THE RED LODGE 


107 

he added. “I was horrified when I heard that it was 
Professor Carter.” 

Colin, whose mind was in no state for conversation, 
made an effort to collect his thoughts. 

“Did you know him personally?” he asked. 

The surgeon shook his head. “No,” he replied. 
“Like everyone else, I was a great admirer of his 
work, but I never had the honour of being introduced 
to him. The police tell me that you were acting as 
his resident assistant.” 

“I came here straight from the hospital,” said 
Colin. “I had been with him for nearly a month.” 

“It seems such a particularly brutal and senseless 
crime,” continued the other, after a short pause. 
“One would think that even the most callous ruffian 
would hesitate about striking down an old man of over 
eighty.” He glanced at Colin’s dressing gown. “I 
gather that the murderer broke into the house after 
you had gone to bed?” 

Colin was about to answer when the Inspector got 
up suddenly and turned toward the door. 

“We’ve seen all we want to for the present, doctor. 
Perhaps you’ll be good enough to have a look at the 
body now, and let’s hear your opinion?” 

The surgeon hurried forward, and, following him 
slowly into the room, Colin seated himself on the 
corner of the sofa. From this position he was able 
to watch the proceedings of all three of his com¬ 
panions, none of whom for the moment betrayed any 
desire to interrogate him further. Doctor Sinclair, 
after taking off his coat, became wholly absorbed in 


io8 


THE RED LODGE 


his professional duties. Marsden appeared to be busy 
making notes, while the sergeant, who had produced 
an electric torch and a large magnifying glass, stepped 
down into the garden and began a minute examination 
of the still open French window. 

At last, after a lapse of several minutes, the surgeon 
rose to his feet. 

“It is a clear case of deliberate murder,” he said 
slowly. “The Professor was struck on the temple by 
some blunt weapon—probably a jemmy. There is 
no doubt that he was killed instantly. I should think 
he has been dead for about twenty minutes.” 

The Inspector turned to Colin. “You were the 
first to view the body,” he remarked. “Is there any¬ 
thing in the doctor’s report with which you are not in 
agreement?” 

“Nothing,” replied Colin. “I came to the same 
conclusion myself directly I examined the wound.” 

Marsden pulled a chair up to the table, and the ser¬ 
geant, who had been listening from the window, 
stepped forward and joined him. 

“I want the full facts now, Doctor Gray,” he said 
brusquely. “Tell us in your own words exactly what 
happened from the moment you returned to the 
house.” 

Amid a profound silence, broken only by the occa¬ 
sional scratching of the Inspector’s pencil, Colin pro¬ 
ceeded to relate his story. Starting with his talk 
to the Professor at the laboratory door, he went on 
step by step to describe the whole of his subsequent 
experiences right up to the arrival of his present com- 


THE RED LODGE 


109 


panions. He kept strictly to the bare facts, making 
no attempt to explain his own views, and all three of 
his audience listened to him with an absorbed interest, 
which showed itself plainly in their faces. 

It was only when he had quite finished that the 
Inspector offered his first comment. 

“Well, I wish everyone could make a statement 
like that,” he said approvingly. “It would save us a 
lot of trouble in the course of the year.” He leaned 
forward, and ran his eye over the various notes which 
he had jotted down while Colin was speaking. “This 
other burglary that the housekeeper referred to,” he 
inquired; “when did that take place?” 

“I think it was about three months ago,” said 
Colin, after a moment’s reflection. “I wasn’t here at 
the time; in fact, there was no one else in the house 
except Mrs. Ramsay and the cook. That was really 
the chief reason why the Professor decided to engage 
an assistant.” 

“Why weren’t the police notified?” demanded the 
Inspector. “There was certainly no report sent in to 
the Yard.” 

“The Professor declared that he didn’t want to 
waste his time. He was a very busy man, and as noth¬ 
ing appeared to have been stolen he decided to let the 
whole matter drop.” 

“Nothing stolen!” repeated Marsden, raising his 
eyebrows. “Are you perfectly certain about that?” 

“It’s what he told me, anyhow,” replied Colin. 
“According to him, the only damage they did was to 
smash open his desk and search his papers.” 


IIO 


THE RED LODGE 


Both men glanced across the room in the direction 
of the oak bureau. 

“Is that the desk?” inquired the Sergeant. 

Colin nodded. 

“Had he any idea what they were after?” 

“Not the slightest. All his papers which are of 
any scientific value are kept in the laboratory. I be¬ 
lieve he had some money and valuables in the safe, but 
they seem to have left that entirely alone.” 

There was a brief silence, and then, without 
saying anything, the Sergeant got up from his chair 
and walked over toward the two pieces of fur¬ 
niture in question. Marsden remained seated, his 
keen blue eyes fixed thoughtfully upon Colin’s 
face. 

“What’s your opinion, doctor?” he asked at last. 

“I am inclined to agree with Mrs. Ramsay,” said 
Colin. “I think it was the same man who broke into 
the house before. He is evidently searching for some 
particular paper or document, and as he couldn’t find 
it in the desk he came back a second time to try and 
open the safe. On his first visit he probably hadn’t 
got the necessary tools with him.” 

“And how about the murder?” 

Colin hesitated. “There’s one thing I don’t under¬ 
stand,” he frankly admitted. “I left the Professor 
working in the laboratory, and it’s a mystery to me 
how he managed to reach the study without my hear¬ 
ing him. I was awake the whole time, and I can 
swear that there wasn’t a sound.” 

“Well, I can explain that to you,” said the Inspector. 


THE RED LODGE 


hi 


“Mr. Carter didn’t cross the hall; he entered the room 
by the window.” 

With a sudden exclamation Colin started to his feet. 

“By Jove, what an idiot I ami” he exclaimed. “I 
never thought of that. Of course, there’s a side door 
from the laboratory into the garden.” 

“I imagined that there must be,” said Marsden, 
“and I haven’t the least doubt that we shall find it un¬ 
locked.” He got up from his chair and glanced at 
the police surgeon, who was standing by himself in 
front of the fire. “I don’t think we need keep you 
any longer, Doctor Sinclair,” he added. “I’ll let you 
know what time we fix for the P. M. as soon as I’ve 
seen Ashford.” 

The surgeon, who seemed ready enough to depart, 
picked up his hat and coat. 

“You can tell him to ’phone me at my house,” he 
replied. “I shall be there till midday for certain.” 

He nodded a general good-night, and, accepting 
Colin’s offer to escort him to the front door, accom¬ 
panied the latter through the hall and down the outer 
corridor. 

“We shall be bound to come across each other 
again during the next few days,” he said as they shook 
hands. “I only hope that when all this is over we 
shall have the pleasure of meeting under less distress¬ 
ing circumstances.” 

Colin returned some more or less suitably polite 
rejoinder, and, shutting the door, made his way back 
to the study. 

He found the two detectives standing in front of the 


112 


THE RED LODGE 


safe, the sergeant stooping down and apparently en¬ 
gaged in some experiment with the lock. 

Marsden looked round at his entrance. 

“We’ll leave Humphries to finish up here,” he said. 
“I want you to take me to the laboratory; and after¬ 
ward, if you’ll call down the servants, I’d like to have 
a few minutes’ conversation with both of them.” 

“I don’t suppose you’ll get much out of the cook,” 
said Colin doubtfully. “According to Mrs. Ramsay, 
she’s collapsed for the night.” 

“She’ll talk all right,” was the somewhat cynical 
answer. “Women can always pull themselves to¬ 
gether if there’s a chance of using their tongues.” 

He stepped forward briskly, and, following Colin 
to the back of the house, turned down the side passage 
which led to the laboratory. 

The door of the latter apartment was still open, 
and at the sight of the big, brilliantly lit interior he 
pulled up with an exclamation of surprise. 

“Hullo!” he remarked. “I’d no idea it was such 
a size. The old man must have been pretty well off 
if he could afford to run up places like this.” 

He glanced round the room as though in search 
of the additional exit, and, without waiting for his 
question, Colin pointed toward a high screen which 
jutted out at right angles from the wall. 

“It’s behind there,” he explained. “I never thought 
of looking to see if it was open. The Professor told 
me that he only used it in summer time.” 

“He used it to-night,” was the detective’s reply. 
“If he hadn’t he would probably be alive now.” 


THE RED LODGE 


113 

As he spoke he descended the steps, and, with Colin 
in close attendance, strode confidently toward the 
spot. They came to a halt in front of a small oak 
door, flush with the wall, and, catching hold of the 
handle, Marsden gave it a sharp turn. The next 
moment a gust of cold wind was blowing in their 
faces, and they were staring across the lawn in the 
direction of Ihe study windows, from which a flood 
of yellow light streamed out into the darkness of the 
garden. 

It was the Inspector who first broke the silence. 

“That’s clear enough as far as it goes,” he observed. 
“The question is, Why did he open the door at one 
o’clock in the morning?” 

A possible explanation suddenly occurred to Colin. 

“I shouldn’t wonder if he wanted to let in a little 
fresh air. He’d been making an experiment, and 
there was a horrible smell in the room when I spoke 
to him at the doorway.” 

“You’ve got it,” was Marsden’s laconic answer. 
He pulled out an electric torch, a duplicate of the 
sergeant’s, and allowed the light to play backward 
and forward over the patch of gravel outside. “I 
don’t suppose there will be any footprints,” he con¬ 
tinued. “It’s been freezing too infernally hard for 
that, and, in any case, we shall only do more harm 
than good by trampling all over the place in the dark.” 
He switched off the torch, and closing and locking the 
door, put away the key in his pocket. 

“We’ll get back now,” he added, “and if you’ll give 
me a hand I think we’ll move the Professor’s body into 


THE RED LODGE 


114 

his own bedroom. When weVe done that you can call 
down the servants.” 

They returned to the study, where they found Hum¬ 
phries still examining the safe, and after the Inspector 
had exchanged a few words with his subordinate, he 
and Colin set about their task. 

Lifting the frail, bloodstained figure between them, 
they carried it slowly up the staircase as far as the 
first landing. The Professor’s room was situated 
right at the end of the corridor, a large, sparsely 
furnished apartment with an old-fashioned four-poster 
in the farther corner. They laid their burden on the 
bed, and Marsden stood up, cap in hand, while Colin 
sponged away the blood and covered over the body 
with a clean sheet. 

“It’s a wretched sort of ending to a life like his,” 
said the detective, with an unexpected touch of feeling. 
“One of the greatest scholars in the world, so they tell 
me; and look at him now—knocked on the head and 
done for, just like any common drunk in a street 
fight!” He paused. “I’m not a rich man,” he added, 
“but I’d give a couple of months’ pay to put a rope 
round the neck of the party who did this.” 

He walked to the door, and, replacing his cap, 
glanced up at the landing above. 

“You might give the servants a call now, doctor,” 
he said. “Don’t frighten ’em; just say that if they 
feel up to it I’d like to have a nice friendly little chat 
in the study.” He dived into his pocket and once 
more pulled out his notebook. “By the way, can 
you tell me the name and address of the Professor’s 


THE RED LODGE 


n 5 

solicitor? We shall have to get hold of him the first 
thing in the morning.” 

“It’s a Mr. Medwin,” said Colin. “He lives close 
by here in Albert Terrace, but I’m hanged if I can re¬ 
member his number.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” returned Marsden. “I can 
easily look him up in the telephone directory.” 

He jotted down the name, and, replacing the book 
in his pocket, laid his hand on Colin’s arm. 

“There’ll be no need for you to stay up any longer,” 
he said. “Both Humphries and I have got plenty to 
keep us busy until breakfast time. You turn in and 
get some sleep as soon as you’ve brought down the 
servants.” 

Colin, who was beginning to feel distinctly weary, 
contented himself with a nod. 

“You’ll know where to find me,” he said, pointing 
to his room. “If there’s anything you happen to want 
just give me a call.” 

He left his companion at the end of the passage 
and mounted the second flight, which led up to the 
servants’ quarters. Somewhat to his surprise, he 
found Mrs. Ramsay and the cook, both fully dressed, 
standing on the small landing at the head of the 
stairs. 

“We couldn’t stop in bed,” explained the former, 
“not after we heard the bell ring. Oh, sir, what do 
the police say? Have they-” 

“The Inspector wants to have a few minutes’ talk 
with both of you,” he said. “Of course, if Mrs. Wil¬ 
son doesn’t feel well enough-” 




ii 6 THE RED LODGE 

The cook drew herself up with a suggestion of in¬ 
jured pride. 

“I know my duty, sir,” she remarked. “If the 
police wishes for my hevidence they shall have it heven 
if I drop dead on the carpet, the same as my poor 
mother did before me.” 

There being apparently nothing further to be said, 
Colin conducted his charges as far as the study, where 
he found the two detectives waiting to receive them. 
He remained just long enough to make the necessary 
introductions, and then, availing himself of Marsden’s 
suggestion, returned upstairs again to his own room. 

Now that his services were no longer needed an ir¬ 
resistible reaction had suddenly set in. He felt tired 
out in mind and body, and, scarcely conscious of any¬ 
thing but an intense desire for sleep, he threw off his 
dressing gown, and, for the second time that evening, 
clambered thankfully into bed. 


It seemed to him as though he had scarcely laid his 
head upon the pillow when he was abruptly aroused 
by a touch on the shoulder. He sat up with a start, 
and, rubbing his eyes, perceived a burly and familiar 
figure standing beside him in the gloom. 

“Hullo, Inspector!” he exclaimed. “What’s the 
matter? Anything wrong?” 

“Only the time,” returned his visitor. “It’s just 
gone eight, and as we’re expecting Mr. Medwin at nine 
I thought I’d better give you a knock-up.” 


THE RED LODGE 


117 

With rather a rueful laugh Colin threw back the 
clothes. 

“How about breakfast?” he inquired. “Have you 
made any arrangements?” 

“The cook’s on the job,” was the encouraging an¬ 
swer. “I was careful to keep on the right side of her 
last night, and she’s promised us a dish of eggs and 
bacon at a quarter past.” 

“I’ll be there,” said Colin, thrusting a leg over the 
side. “How did you and the sergeant get on after 
I’d gone to bed?” 

“Well, we haven’t altogether wasted our time,” said 
Marsden, turning toward the door. “I won’t hang 
about in your way now, however. You shall have the 
news—such as it is—while we’re waiting for the 
solicitor.” 

He disappeared with a friendly nod, and, after 
indulging in a cold tub and a somewhat hasty toilet, 
Colin followed him downstairs to the dining room. 

His arrival synchronized almost exactly with that 
of Mrs. Ramsay, who appeared from the kitchen car¬ 
rying a well-laden tray. She arranged the contents on 
the breakfast table, which was already set out, at the 
same time expressing an apologetic hope that if there 
were any shortcomings they might be attributed to the 
natural agitation of herself and the cook. She then 
retired, and with an air of businesslike alacrity the two 
detectives drew up their chairs. 

“This will just suit my complaint,” observed Mars¬ 
den, uncovering the eggs and bacon. “I was never a 
believer in working on an empty stomach, and I 


n8 THE RED LODGE 

reckon Humphries here is pretty much of the same 
opinion.” 

“There were some sandwiches and whisky on the 
sideboard last night,” said Colin. “I ought to have 
told you before I went to bed.” 

“Oh, we found them all right,” returned Marsden 
with a smile. “And, for the matter of that, some 
very excellent cigars, too.” He helped his compan¬ 
ions to a generous portion each, and transferred the 
remainder to his own plate. “I only wish,” he added 
grimly, “that we’d been equally successful in our pro¬ 
fessional discoveries.” 

“Have you any clue at all?” asked Colin. 

“Depends on what you call a clue,” was the answer. 
“I can tell you one thing for a certainty. Whoever 
broke into the house was an old hand at the game, 
and, what’s more, a chap who knew his job from A 
to Z.” 

“Why do you think that?” 

“Well, you’re not likely to find an amateur burglar 
who can cut out a pane of glass without making a 
sound, nor yet one who wears gloves so as to hide his 
finger prints. Besides, no one but an expert cracks¬ 
man could possibly have forced the lock of the safe.” 

“I didn’t know it was forced,” said Colin. 

“One bolt had gone, anyhow; and a very neat bit of 
work it was, too, eh, Humphries?” 

The sergeant, whose mouth was full, confined him¬ 
self to an affirmative grunt. 

“That rather knocks the bottom out of my theory,” 
said Colin, after a short pause. 


THE RED LODGE 


119 

“It simplifies things a good deal from our point 
of view,” returned the Inspector. “Directly we can 
get a crime into a particular class we’re half way 
toward finding the man who did it. You see, there 
are never more than a certain number of skilled burg¬ 
lars out of prison, and it’s the Yard’s business to keep 
a pretty close eye on what they’re up to. Roughly 
speaking, a case like this narrows itself down to about 
twenty or thirty likely parties. By to-night they’ll all 
have been put through it, and if there’s a single one 
who can’t account exactly for what he was doing he’ll 
—well, he’ll be what the newspapers call ‘detained for 
further inquiries.’ ” 

“Do you think it was the same man who broke in 
before?” asked Colin. 

Marsden looked doubtful. “It may be, of course, 
and if that’s so there’s probably more in the case than 
appears on the surface. A man like the Professor 
might very well have had papers and secrets that 
certain people were anxious to get hold of, and it’s 
quite on the cards that they might have taken in a 
professional thief to do their dirty work for them. 
The trouble is that at present we know practically 
nothing about his private life.” 

“I can’t help you there,” said Colin. “I believe 
that Mr. Medwin was the only person who was at all 
in his confidence.” 

“Well, Mr. Medwin will be able to answer for 
himself in a few minutes. Our next best hope is to 
get on to the track of this old manservant Kennedy. 
He seems to have been with the Professor for about 


120 


THE RED LODGE 


forty years, so if he’s still alive he might be able to 
give us some useful information.” 

“I expect Mrs. Ramsay or the cook could let you 
have his address.” 

“I asked them last night, but neither of them has 
the least notion where he is. From the way they 
spoke I gather that there was precious little love lost 
between them. However, he will probably show up 
as soon as he reads about the murder, and, if not, 
we oughtn’t to have much difficulty-” 

A ring at the front door bell interrupted his words, 
and, glancing at the clock, he gulped down the re¬ 
mainder of his tea. 

“I wonder if this is our man,” he added. “You 
don’t often find a solicitor ahead of his time.” He 
turned to Colin as Mrs. Ramsay’s steps were heard 
crossing the hall. “Just a word of caution, doctor. 
He knows nothing about the murder yet, and 
I’ve told the old lady to keep her tongue quiet 
while she’s showing him in. Leave me to break the 
news if you will; I’ve a fancy to see how he takes 
it.” 

Colin’s only reply was a nod, and the three of 
them sat in silence until the door opened and Mrs. 
Ramsay appeared on the threshold, with the massive 
form of Mr. Medwin looming up behind her. 

The solicitor, who was wearing a frock-coat and 
carrying a top hat in his hand, took a couple of paces 
forward. Then with an air of surprise he came to a 
sudden halt. 

The Inspector rose instantly. 



THE RED LODGE 


12 I 


“Let me introduce myself, Mr. Medwin. I am 
Inspector Marsden, of Scotland Yard.” 

Mr. Medwin bowed, his close-set eyes travelling 
swiftly over the other occupants of the room. 

“Good morning,” he said, in that peculiarly 
suave voice of his. “May I inquire what all this 
signifies?” 

“Professor Carter has been murdered.” 

Marsden’s answer came with startling bluntness, 
and there could be no question as to the effect that 
it produced. An expression of incredulous amaze¬ 
ment flashed across the big man’s face, and for a mo¬ 
ment he stood gripping his hat and staring blankly at 
the speaker. 

“Murdered?” he exclaimed at last. “Impossible! 
There must be some mistake.” 

“It’s not the sort of thing that lends itself to mis¬ 
takes,” returned the detective. 

Mr. Medwin drew in a long breath, and Colin, who 
was watching intently, saw that he was making a tre¬ 
mendous effort to recover his self-control. 

“I think I had better sit down for a moment,” he 
said slowly. 

He moved forward, and, laying his hat on the 
corner of the table, sank into the vacant chair from 
which Marsden had just arisen. 

“You must excuse me,” he continued. “I feel half 
stunned at this appalling news. The Professor was 
one of my most valued friends.” He moistened his 
lips and glanced up suddenly at the detective. “When 
did it happen?” he demanded. 


122 


THE RED LODGE 


“Last night,” was the reply, “or, to be more exact, 
about a quarter to one this morning.” 

“Why wasn’t I sent for before?” 

Marsden stroked his moustache, and eyed the other 
with a kind of dispassionate interest. 

“Well, Mr. Medwin, I appreciate the importance of 
your testimony, but as I happen to be responsible for 
this case you must permit me to conduct my investiga¬ 
tion in the way that I consider best.” 

Instead of betraying any resentment at the snub, 
the solicitor merely nodded. 

“Quite so,” he assented readily. “Your first step 
would naturally be to go into all the circumstances 
of the murder, and I was forgetting for a moment 
what a great deal of work it must have entailed.” 
He paused. “Have you made any discoveries?” he 
asked. “Anything that could possibly be described as 
a clue?” 

“Several,” replied Marsden. “But I think it will 
save time if I give you the full details straight away. 
There are several peculiar features about the affair, 
and it’s not much use discussing them until you are in 
possession of the facts.” 

Mr. Medwin folded his arms. 

“Just exactly as you prefer,” he remarked. “Please 
consider me entirely at your service.” 

Without wasting any more words Marsden entered 
upon a brief description of everything that had taken 
place from the moment when Colin had returned to 
the house. The curt and matter-of-fact fashion in 
which he told his story seemed somehow or other to 


THE RED LODGE 


123 


heighten its dramatic horror, and, in spite of the 
solicitor’s expressionless face, it was easy to see the 
strained attention with which he was following every 
word. Once or twice he seemed to be on the point of 
asking a question, but on each occasion he apparently 
changed his mind at the last moment, as though un¬ 
willing to interrupt the narrative. 

“As far as I can see at present,” concluded Mars- 
den, “there are two probable lines of inquiry, both of 
which I propose to follow up. Either it was an 
ordinary case of burglary, or else the thief was after 
some particular object that he believed to be hidden 
in the study. With regard to the actual murder, 
I am inclined to think that it was more or less of an 
accident. The silly fool got rattled when the old man 
came in at the window, and smashed his head in be¬ 
fore he realized what he was doing. He has probably 
been cursing himself ever since.” 

“I should say that your first suggestion was the 
right one,” remarked Mr. Medwin. “An old- 
fashioned house like this, shut away from the road, 
is exactly the sort of place that a professional burglar 
would select. It’s very improbable there’s anything 
more in it than that—a sordid attempt at house¬ 
breaking, ending up in a brutal and bloody murder.” 

“Well,” returned Marsden slowly, “I’m not alto¬ 
gether satisfied on the point. Take the question of 
this previous attempt. Granting it was the same man, 
why did he content himself with merely examining the 
desk?” 

The lawyer glanced swiftly in the direction of Colin. 


124 


THE RED LODGE 


“Is that what the Professor told you?’’ he asked. 

Colin nodded. 

“He said the same thing to me,” continued the 
other, “but I remember wondering at the time 
whether his statement could really be trusted. Like 
so many gifted men, he was curiously careless in the 
matter of money. It’s quite possible that he may have 
had a bundle of notes in some drawer that he remem¬ 
bered nothing about.” 

“And you think that, having whetted his appetite, 
the thief came back for more?” 

Marsden put the question almost casually. 

Mr. Medwin spread out his hands. “Surely it’s a 
more likely theory than to imagine the existence of 
some mysterious object that nobody has ever heard 
of?” 

“I suppose that if the Professor had had any spe¬ 
cially valuable paper or secret in his possession he 
would probably have mentioned the fact? I gather 
that you were entirely in his confidence?” 

“Entirely, as far as his business arrangements were 
concerned.” 

“And how about his private affairs?” 

The solicitor paused. “I am as much in the dark 
as you are with regard to them. On anything that 
concerned himself Mr. Carter was one of the most 
reticent men who ever lived.” 

“So I understand from Dr. Gray,” returned the In¬ 
spector. “All the same, we shall have to look into 
the matter, and I should think the easiest way of 
doing it would be to get in touch with his old servant* 


THE RED LODGE 


125 

Kennedy. Do you happen to know where he can be 
found?” 

Colin, who was watching closely, thought that he 
detected a faint change of expression in the solicitor’s 
face. If so, it passed away instantly. 

“I haven’t any idea,” was the reply. “I am afraid 
it’s very likely that he’s dead. He was partly para¬ 
lyzed when he left the Professor’s service, and I don’t 
imagine he would have lasted for more than a few 
months.” 

The Inspector walked to the window and for a 
moment or two stared thoughtfully out into the gar¬ 
den. 

“What about the estate?” he asked, turning round 
suddenly. “Who comes into the property?” 

Mr. Medwin shrugged his shoulders. “There 
again I am completely at sea. I presume that it 
passes to the next of kin, but who that fortunate per¬ 
son may be I haven’t the remotest notion.” 

“Hasn’t Mr. Carter made a will?” 

“Not that I’m aware of. I suggested to him sev¬ 
eral times that he ought to take some steps in the mat¬ 
ter, but he always made the excuse that he was too busy 
to be bothered about it at the moment. As so often 
happens in these cases, the opportunity has now gone 
by for ever.” 

“Then if no one comes forward the money passes 
to the Crown?” 

“That is so; but it’s not a situation which is likely 
to occur. In view of the large fortune at stake some 
claimant is certain to put in an appearance.” 


126 


THE RED LODGE 


The Inspector raised his eyebrows. “A large for¬ 
tune, eh?” he repeated. “Can you give us any idea of 
what it amounts to?” 

Mr. Medwin reflected. “The Professor has been 
saving money for years,” he said slowly. “He drew 
a big income from his various patents, and his personal 
expenditure was comparatively trifling. Some of his 
experiments were naturally rather costly, but, all the 
same, there can be no doubt that he was an extremely 
wealthy man. As a rough estimate I should say that 
he was worth at least a couple of hundred thousand 
pounds.” 


CHAPTER SIX 


“We find that Professor Carter was wilfully mur¬ 
dered by some person or persons unknown.” 

The foreman of the jury, a stout, pompous little 
man who was evidently pleased with his temporary 
importance, announced the verdict in a loud and im¬ 
pressive voice. 

A moment’s silence followed as the Coroner wrote 
down the words, and then, amid a general murmur 
of voices and shuffling of papers, the crowded court 
commenced to break up. 

Colin, who was sitting on one of the back benches, 
remained in his place while the building slowly emptied 
itself. At last, just as it was clearing, the Inspector 
and Mr. Medwin appeared together in the gangway, 
and, picking up his hat, he stepped out to join them. 

The solicitor was the first to speak. 

“An unsatisfactory verdict,” he observed, “but, con¬ 
sidering the entire lack of any definite evidence, I sup¬ 
pose it was the only one that could be expected.” 

“I’ve no complaint to make,” remarked Marsden. 
“I should say that it summed up the situation 
exactly.” 

“Well, you’re as much concerned with finding out 
the truth as either of us,” returned the other, “but I 
must confess to being a little disappointed that we’ve 
127 


128 


THE RED LODGE 


made no further progress. It seems extraordinary 
that a crime like this can be committed, and that there 
should be absolutely no clue to the murderer.” 

“It’s a remarkable case all round,” agreed Marsden. 
“One of its most peculiar features is the fact that 
no one has yet come forward to claim relationship 
with the Professor. I suppose you’ve discovered 
nothing fresh about his private affairs since our con¬ 
versation yesterday?” 

“Nothing,” was the answer. “If I had I should 
have informed the Coroner. My own opinion is 
that before long we are bound to get on the right 
track, and in the meanwhile the only thing to do is 
to go on with the business of winding up the estate. 
I am working in conjunction with the solicitor for 
the Treasury, and he assures me that we shall be 
allowed plenty of time to make the most exhaustive 
inquiries before the Crown takes any steps to put for¬ 
ward a claim.” He turned to Colin. “By the way, I 
wanted to have a talk with you, Gray,” he added. 
“I understand that your arrangement with the Pro¬ 
fessor was only a verbal one, but, all the same, I think 
you are at least entitled to six months’ salary. I will 
discuss the point with the Treasury, and, should they 
raise no objection, I will take the responsibility of for¬ 
warding you a cheque.” 

“It’s very good of you,” said Colin coolly, “but if 
you won’t think me ungrateful I would much prefer 
that you allowed the matter to drop. I am not in 
need of money, and the small amount of work I did 
has already been exceedingly well paid for.” 


THE RED LODGE 


129 


Mr. Medwin smiled benevolently. 

“Just as you please,” he observed. “It’s refresh¬ 
ing to come across any one who takes such a modest 
and unmercenary view of their services.” He paused. 
“I have no idea what your plans are,” he continued, 
“but should you be anxious to obtain some particular 
appointment I shall be only too delighted to do any¬ 
thing I can to assist you. I know that Mr. Carter 
entertained the very highest opinion of your abilities.” 

“I am not looking out for a new job at present,” 
replied Colin bluntly. “I am going to find the man 
who murdered the Professor. There’ll be time enough 
to think about my own affairs after he’s been tried and 
hanged.” 

As he spoke the court clock chimed the hour, and 
with a sudden air of surprise Mr. Medwin pulled out 
his watch. 

“One o’clock,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t realize it 
was so late. I have promised to lunch with a client 
of mine, so I’m afraid I must hurry off.” He shook 
hands with each of them in turn. “I need hardly say 
I wish you both every success in your investigations. 
You will no doubt keep me informed of any discoveries 
you make, and sooner or later, if we all work together, 
I feel convinced that the truth will come out.” 

With a friendly nod he turned toward the door, 
and the next moment Colin and the Inspector were left 
alone. 

“I don’t know why it is,” said Colin. “I’ve nothing 
against that chap, but somehow or other I feel dead 
certain that he’s a wrong ’un.” 


130 


THE RED LODGE 


“We shall be very unpopular if we stop and discuss 
the matter here,” replied Marsden. “They’ve been 
waiting to shut the court for the last five minutes.” 

“Well, suppose we go and have some lunch,” sug¬ 
gested Colin. “I know quite a decent place round the 
corner in the High Street, and there are one or two 
things I’d like to have a talk about if you’re not in a 
great hurry.” 

“I was going to propose it myself,” replied Mars¬ 
den. “I’ve got one of our men coming down to take 
some photographs at the Red Lodge this afternoon. 
He’ll be along about a quarter to two, so that will just 
spin out the time until he arrives.” 

They left the court, and a few minutes later they 
were seated at a table in a discreet little French res¬ 
taurant, the stout proprietress of which greeted Colin 
with a motherly and familiar smile. 

“It’s curious you should have said that about our 
legal friend,” began Marsden, as soon as they had 
given their order. “I don’t set much store myself on 
what people call instincts; I’ve seen too many of ’em 
go wrong. All the same, from the moment I clapped 
my eyes on this fellow Medwin I’ve had a sort of feel¬ 
ing that he was keeping something up his sleeve.” 

“Something to do with the murder?” demanded 
Colin. 

Marsden broke off a bit of crust and chewed it 
thoughtfully. 

“On the whole I should say not,” he replied. 
“There’s no getting away from the fact that he was 
knocked all of a heap when he heard the news. I’m 


THE RED LODGE 


131 

more inclined to think that he’s up to some hanky- 
panky with regard to the old man’s money. He may 
have a notion who the rightful heirs are, and, if so, 
he’s probably lying low with the idea of making a bit 
out of it himself.” 

“What sort of a standing has he got in his profes¬ 
sion?” asked Colin. 

“Oh, good enough as far as it goes,” returned the 
detective. “Still, I thought there’d be no harm in 
making a few inquiries, so I’ve asked Ainsworth to 
tackle the job himself. It will have to be done care¬ 
fully, of course; if Medwin got wind of the fact he’d 
probably kick up the devil of a dust.” 

“Are you any further on at all with regard to the 
murder?” asked Colin. 

Marsden gave a warning glance in the direction 
of the returning waiter, and for several minutes the 
two of them remained silent, while a deftly moving 
Italian attended to their needs. 

“There’s no point in informing the rest of the 
world,” remarked Marsden, as soon as they were 
alone again, “but, to tell you the truth, we seem to 
be up against a blank wall. I didn’t say too much 
to the Coroner, chiefly on account of the newspapers. 
Some of them are always waiting for a chance to dig 
out the old stunt about the incompetence of Scotland 
Yard, so in a case like this it’s just as well to give the 
impression that we’re keeping something in the back¬ 
ground. As a matter of cold fact, I only wish we 
were.” 

“What about those pet black sheep of yours?” in- 


02 THE RED LODGE 

quired Colin. “Haven’t you succeeded in rounding 
them up yet?” 

“Oh, we’ve rounded ’em up all right. We’ve scraped 
through our list of regulars with a fine pocket-comb, 
and if any of them had so much as a finger in the job 
I’ll eat my hat in this restaurant.” 

“Then you’ve changed your opinion?” said Colin. 
“You’re beginning to believe-” 

Marsden shook his head. “No,” he interrupted 
doggedly, “I’ll stake my reputation that the man who 
opened the lock of that safe was a professional cracks¬ 
man. He may have been a foreigner, of course, and 
if that’s the case it would account for the fact that 
none of our people here know anything about him. 
However, I’ve cabled to Paris and New York, and 
several other places, to ask them if any of their own 
experts are missing, and it’s quite possible I may get 
an answer from them that will put us on the right 
track. If I do I’ll send you along a line.” He 
paused to refill his glass. “By the way,” he added, 
“where shall I be able to find you?” 

“I’ve taken a room at the Kensington Palace Hotel 
for a day or two,” said Colin. “I’ve really made no 
plans yet. As I told Medwin, I mean to see this thing 
through before I attempt to settle down to any fresh 
work.” He pushed away his plate, the contents of 
which he had hardly tasted, and lighted himself a 
cigarette. “How about the Professor’s old servant?” 
he asked. “Any news of him yet ?” 

“That’s another of our failures,” admitted the de¬ 
tective wryly. “Ainsworth’s men have been ransack- 



THE RED LODGE 


133 


mg the country, but so far they seem to have drawn an 
absolute blank.” He stopped suddenly, and, putting 
his hand in his pocket, produced a rather crumpled en¬ 
velope. “Talking of Ainsworth, I’ve got something 
here for you. It’s the report we promised you the 
other day about some party you wanted us to look up. 
I’d have posted it on before only you told me that you 
weren’t in any particular hurry.” 

He passed over the note, and, hastily expressing 
his thanks, Colin tore open the flap. In the rush and 
excitement of recent events his interest in Major 
Fenton had been temporarily forgotten, but the mere 
mention of the subject was quite sufficient to arouse all 
his previous curiosity. 

He extracted the sheet of paper which the envelope 
contained, and, unfolding it with eager fingers, spread 
it out before him on the table. It was just a single 
page of neat typewriting, without any address or date. 

Major F. is the only son of the late John Mor- 
daunt F., of Cheltenham, Glos. He is forty-three 
years of age. He was educated at Cheltenham Col¬ 
lege. Entered the 17th Lancers, but resigned his 
commission as a captain on account of financial 
difficulties. Was in India for several years and 
also in Canada. It is believed that he was chiefly 
engaged in training and selling polo ponies. Re¬ 
joined the Service during the war and rose to his 
present rank. Since then his only occupation ap¬ 
pears to have been betting at race-meetings. He 
is connected with an undesirable element on the 


134 


THE RED LODGE 


Turf, and his general reputation is not of the best. 
As far as this country is concerned, however, there 
is no record of his having been connected with any 
criminal proceedings. He is an amateur yachts¬ 
man, and the registered owner of a small auxiliary 
engined boat called The Swallow, which is at pres¬ 
ent lying in Hole Haven. 

This paper is to be destroyed as soon as its con¬ 
tents have been noted. 

As Colin reached the concluding paragraph the In¬ 
spector rose from his chair. 

“I hope you’ve got the information you wanted,” 
he said. “I must be off now, or I shall be late for 
my appointment. Are you coming along up to the 
house ?” 

Colin thrust away the paper in his inside pocket. 

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I’d half promised 
to go down to Shadwell. My pal, the doctor there, 
is very keen to know the result of the inquest. Still, 

if there’s any way in which I can be of help-” 

Marsden beckoned to the waiter. 

“No, no,” he interrupted. “You stick to your ar¬ 
rangement. We’re only going to take a few photo¬ 
graphs of the study, just to show the exact position in 
which the body was lying. They may come in useful 
later on.” 

He asked for the bill, which, in spite of Colin’s 
protest, he insisted upon paying, and, leaving the 
restaurant, they stepped out on to the crowded pave¬ 
ment. 



THE RED LODGE 


135 


“I’m making for the station,” explained Colin. 
“My car’s having some new valves fitted, so I shall go 
down by train.” 

“Well, so long for the present,” was the Inspector’s 
reply. “I’ll let you know at the hotel directly there’s 
any news, and if you should want to get in touch with 
me yourself you’ve only got to ring up the Yard. 
Even if I’m not there they can always send me a mes¬ 
sage.” 

With a parting handshake he disappeared among 
the traffic, and a few minutes later, having purchased 
a ticket for Shadwell, Colin was descending the steps 
which led down to the underground railway. 

As the train rumbled eastward he again pulled out 
the paper which Marsden had handed him, and read it 
through carefully a second time. Brief though it was, 
it certainly presented Major Fenton in a far from flat¬ 
tering light. Apart from its own uncomplimentary 
phrases, it suggested that the account of himself which 
he had given to Nancy was probably quite untrue. 
Whatever his exact reasons for going abroad might 
have been, it was clear that they had nothing to do 
with the demands of military service. That he had 
only returned to England in the spring was also ap¬ 
parently a piece of deliberate fiction. Unless the 
police were wrong, he had been a conspicuous figure at 
race meetings ever since the conclusion of the war; 
conspicuous, too, in a fashion which seemed to clash 
rather badly with the chivalrous role he had adopted in 
his relations toward Nancy. 

Had he really been acquainted with her father at 


THE RED LODGE 


136 

all? It was a question which Colin had already asked 
himself on several occasions, and in view of what he 
had just read his doubts on the subject became more 
pronounced than ever. The details of the story were 
so improbable, and the professed motive so extremely 
unlikely, that in the absence of any other evidence 
except the Major’s own statement all his beliefs in¬ 
clined in the opposite direction. 

It seemed to him that Nancy ought certainly to be 
enlightened concerning the somewhat unreliable nature 
of her “guardian’s” claims. The job was not a par¬ 
ticularly attractive one, for she had given him no 
authority to make inquiries, and the character of an 
unauthorized Paul Pry is about the last that any one 
would wish to assume. Besides, there was the awk¬ 
ward fact that Fenton had already cautioned Nancy 
against him, and it might well appear to a third person 
that in bringing this counter-charge he was merely 
gratifying his own private resentment. 

Still, even at the risk of being misunderstood it was 
clearly his duty to put her on her guard. He would 
show her the report, and tell her frankly how it had 
come into his possession, and if the consequences 
proved to be unfortunate he must put up with them as 
best he could. 

It was at the precise moment when he had arrived 
at this decision that the train ran into Whitechapel 
station. He got out in company with a number of 
other passengers bound for the less fashionable quar¬ 
ters of East End London, and, crossing the line by a 
covered bridge, descended into the narrow and dimly lit 


THE RED LODGE 


i37 

vault where passengers to Shadwell await their des¬ 
tiny. 

As he reached the platform the figure of a man 
sitting by himself on a solitary bench suddenly at¬ 
tracted his attention, and, stepping promptly forward 
to the seat, he gave its occupant a sounding slap on the 
shoulder. 

“Cheer up, Joe,” he said. “There’s sure to be a 
train some time to-day.” 

Mr. Joseph Bates—for it was none other than 
the ex-pugilist—jumped to his feet with a grin of 
welcome. 

“Well, I’m blarsted,” he exclaimed. “Caught me 
proper, that you did, sir. Who’d ever have thought 
o’ meeting you ’ere?” 

He held out a large and not over-clean hand, which 
Colin shook heartily. 

“I was just saying to meself only yesterday,” con¬ 
tinued Joe, “some time when I get a free mornin’ I 
must do a trip up to the ’orspital an’ tell the doctor 
abaht my bit o’ good luck.” 

“What’s that?” demanded Colin, taking a seat be¬ 
side him on the bench. “Have you fallen in love, or 
is somebody offering you a job at a brewery?” 

“You’d never guess,” returned Joe with a chuckle, 
“not if you was to try for a month o’ Sundays.” He 
removed a short clay pipe from the corner of his 
mouth and spat contentedly on to the platform. “I 
gorn back into the perfession, guv’nor, that’s wot I 
done.” 

Colin eyed him incredulously. “That’s a good one, 


THE RED LODGE 


138 

Joe,” he observed. “Who are you going to fight— 
Jack Dempsey?” 

“ ’Tain’t a joke, guv’nor. I’m back in the old busi¬ 
ness again, gospel truth I am, but not as wot you might 
call a principal.” He paused, as though to give full 
weight to his coming disclosure. “You’ve ’eard tell 
o’ Solly Moss and the Palace o’ Sport?” 

“What, the new boxing ring in Whitechapel?” 

“That’s it—that’s the place I’m gettin’ at. Well, 
the very day after I see’d you and the young lady 
ahtside the club, who should I run across in the street 
but old Solly Moss ’isself. ’Im an’ me was pals once, 
before ’e come up in the world, an’ ’e’s got a good 
’eart, Solly ’as—especially for a Sheeny. We ’as a bit 
of a talk like, an’ a couple o’ drinks, an’ he says to 
me, ‘Joe,’ ’e says, ‘you come along dahn to my ’all, an’ 
damn me if I don’t find you a job.’ An’ wot’s more, 
’e’s done it, guv’nor. I’m caretaker, chucker-aht, and 
one o’ the two official seconds, with thirty bob a week 
an’ me name on the bleedin’ programme.” 

“I congratulate you,” said Colin. “It must be an 
interesting job, but it sounds to me as if it was a bit 
underpaid.” 

“There’re pickin’s,” returned Joe, with a wink. “A 
good second can do a lot toward pullin’ orf a fight, an’ 
it gen’rally means arf a crown when you ’appen to be 
in the winnin’ corner. Besides”—he licked his lips— 
“me bein’ in wot you might call an official position, 
folks as is interested in the game likes to make ’em- 
selves civil. Why, this ’ere job will be worth quarts 
an’ quarts o’ beer to me every week.” 


THE RED LODGE 


139 


As he spoke the train steamed into the station, and 
with a simultaneous movement both of them rose to 
their feet. 

“Where are you off to?” asked Colin. “I get out 
at Shadwell.” 

“That’s my mark, too,” replied Joe. “I gotter 
go an’ see the bloke wot supplies us with our jellied 
eels. They ain’t bin up to standard lately, an’ old 
Solly, ’e’s arsked me to call rahnd and tell ’em wot 
’e can do with ’em.” 

They took their seats along with the rest of the 
passengers, and a few minutes more brought them to 
the equally grimy platform which serves to connect 
Shadwell with the outside world. 

As they mounted the long flight of steps up to the 
street Colin again addressed his companion. 

“It’s no use your coming to the hospital now, Joe,” 
he said. “I’ve left there for good.” 

“Started one of your own, sir?” inquired Joe inno¬ 
cently. 

“Not yet,” replied Colin. “I am what you might 
call marking time at the moment, but I expect I shall 
be settling down again soon, and when I do I’ll let 
you know my address. However, I shall probably 
see you again before then. I am sure to be down here 
a good deal with my friend Doctor Ashton, and one 
afternoon I’ll walk over to your place and see if there’s 
anything doing. I’d like to have the gloves on again, 
just for a bit of practice.” 

“You come along, guv’nor,” returned Joe with 
enthusiasm. “There’s gen’rally one or two useful 


140 


THE RED LODGE 


lads messin’ arahnd, and we’ll fix you up with some 
bloke who can take a decent punch.” 

They surrendered their tickets to the porter on duty, 
and, having passed through the doorway, Colin 
stopped for a moment on the pavement outside to light 
himself a cigarette. 

He was in the act of throwing away the match 
when he happened to glance across the street. As 
he did so he caught sight of two men who were stand¬ 
ing in the doorway of a small public house opposite. 
To an ordinary observer there was nothing particu¬ 
larly striking about their appearance, except for the 
fact that one of them was unusually well dressed. If 
they had been Indians in full war-paint, however, the 
effect upon Colin could hardly have been more remark¬ 
able. He remained stock still, his eyes riveted upon 
the taller of the pair. Although the latter’s face was 
half turned away, there could be no possible mistake. 
It was Fenton himself, the very man of all others who 
chiefly occupied his thoughts. 

“Anything wrong, guv’nor?” inquired Joe curiously. 

The sound of his companion’s voice restored Colin’s 
faculties at once. With a quick movement he caught 
hold of the other’s arm, and, drawing him along the 
pavement for a few paces, pulled up behind the shel¬ 
ter of a deserted cart. 

“Joe,” he said, “you see those two fellows over 
there in the door of the pub?” 

Mr. Moss’s lieutenant squinted furtively round the 
backboard. 

“Wot abaht ’em?” he demanded. 


THE RED LODGE 


141 

“Have you any idea who either of them is?” 

“Dunno the torf,” was the answer. “T’other one’s 
a bloke they call ‘Spike’ Cooper.” 

“Is he a friend of yours?” 

Joe laughed derisively. “Not much. I ain’t per- 
tic’ler, but I likes to draw the line somewhere.” 

“Oh, he’s a bad lot, eh?” 

“That’s as it may be,” replied Joe cautiously. “I 
ain’t sayin’ nothing, not one way nor the other, but 
any’ow, I don’t fancy ’is comp’ny.” 

From the security of his retreat Colin subjected 
“Spike” Cooper to a critical examination. He was a 
tough-looking customer with broad, powerful shoul¬ 
ders and a lean, mahogany-coloured face. In spite of 
his somewhat shabby clothes he was evidently on fa¬ 
miliar terms with Fenton, for he lounged back against 
the wall with his hands in his pockets and a half- 
smoked cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. 

Colin turned to Joe. “Where did you come across 
him?” he asked. 

The ex-pugilist wrinkled his forehead. “Well, I 
can’t say to rights. I think it was the Blue Boar at 
Shoreditch. ’E’s bin ’anging arahnd these pubs for 
the last two months, though where ’e come from afore 
that Gawd knows. Some kind of a Yank, I reckon, 
judgin’ by ’is talk.” 

Colin took another long and deliberate stare at the 
oddly assorted couple. 

“Joe,” he said, “will you do something for me?” 

“You ain’t no call to ask that,” returned Joe a little 
reproachfully. 


142 


THE RED LODGE 


“I want to know all I can about that chap. I want 
you to follow him round and find out who his pals are 
and where he’s living. Do you think you could man¬ 
age it without giving away the show?” 

Joe’s eyes brightened. “That’s orl right, guv’nor,” 
he replied encouragingly. “Jes’ you push orf an’ leave 
the job to me. I’ll pick up ’is tracks now, after this 
’ere cabinet council’s over. There ain’t no ’urry abaht 
them there jellied eels.” 

“You’re a brick, Joe,” said Colin gratefully. “If 
you do happen to find out anything you might call 
round at Doctor Ashton’s. You know his house in the 
High Street?” 

Joe nodded. 

“If I’m not there you’ve only got to leave a message 
that you want to see me and I’ll be over at the Palace 
as soon as I get it.” He put his hand in his pocket 
and pulled out a couple of one pound notes. “Better 
take these,” he added. “You might want to do a little 
bribery and corruption.” 

Joe accepted the money and slipped it inside his belt. 

“You leave it to me, guv’nor,” he whispered, “and 
don’t you start worryin’ if you don’t ’ear nothin’ fur a 
day or two. ’E’s the sorter cove that’s got to be 
’andled cunnin’, but I’ll run ’im dahn right enough 
afore I done with ’im. I’ll stick to ’im like ’is bleedin’ 
shadder.” 

As he spoke the two men opposite moved forward 
out of the shelter of the door. They stood for a mo¬ 
ment on the edge of the pavement, exchanging a few 
final remarks, and then, with a curt nod to his com- 


THE RED LODGE 


i43 

panion, Fenton stepped into the roadway, and began 
to cross the street in the direction of the station. 

Keeping well behind the cart, Colin waited until he 
was safely in the booking-office. 

“We seem to be in luck, Joe,” he observed cheer¬ 
fully. “The pubs are shut, so if our pal’s got a home 
he’s probably on his way there now.” 

He nodded toward the retreating figure of Mr. 
“Spike” Cooper, who with his hands still in his pock¬ 
ets was sauntering away casually up the street. 

“It ain’t unlikely,” returned Joe, with an appreci¬ 
ative grin. “Any’ow, we’ll ’ave a nice little walk 
rahnd the ’ouses, an’ if we don’t do nothing else, we’ll 
get ’old of a decent thirst.” 

He knocked out his pipe, and, thrusting it into his 
pocket, drifted off inconspicuously amongst the stream 
of passers-by. 

The whole thing had happened so quickly that up 
till then Colin’s chief feeling had been one of complete 
surprise. Left to himself, however, the real signifi¬ 
cance of Fenton’s appearance in this out-of-the-way 
neighbourhood suddenly came home to him with con¬ 
vincing force. Shadwell was about the last part of 
London that such a man would be likely to patronize 
unless he had some extremely definite reason for un¬ 
dertaking the journey. Only one reason suggested it¬ 
self to Colin, namely, the presence of Nancy at Mark’s 
house. That was certainly sufficient to account for 
the Major’s visit, though why he should be standing 
in the door of an adjacent pub, talking to an obvious 
ruffian like Mr. “Spike” Cooper, was another problem 


THE RED LODGE 


144 

to which no immediate answer seemed to be forthcom¬ 
ing. 

Pondering over this point as he walked toward 
the surgery, Colin felt exceedingly thankful that he 
had had the happy inspiration to despatch Joe in 
pursuit of the stranger. If some underhand business 
were going on in connection with Nancy, it would 
be just as well to make certain whether this sinister- 
looking individual had anything to do with the 
proceedings. Of course, it was quite possible that 
the two men had met merely by chance. Being mixed 
up with the Turf, Fenton no doubt possessed a number 
of undesirable acquaintances, and he might have stum¬ 
bled across one of them accidentally just as he was 
about to enter the station. That, indeed, seemed to 
be the most likely explanation, but, even so, any in¬ 
formation that Joe could pick up would certainly not 
be wasted. If it served no other purpose, it would 
probably assist in opening Nancy’s eyes to Fenton’s 
true character, and for the moment, at all events, 
that was the principal object which Colin had in his 
mind. 

On reaching the front gate of the surgery he found 
its owner standing on the doorstep, in the act of bid¬ 
ding good-bye to a patient. Almost simultaneously 
the latter took his departure, and with a hail of wel¬ 
come Mark stepped forward to greet him. 

“The very lad I wanted,” was his opening remark. 
“In fact, I was just going to ring up the hotel and see 
if I could get hold of you.” 

“I knew you were keen to hear about the inquest,” 


THE RED LODGE 


H 5 

replied Colin, “and, being a gentleman of leisure, I 
thought I might as well oblige you.” 

Mark drew him into the house, and relieved him of 
his hat and stick. 

“Come along upstairs,” he whispered. “Nancy’s 
doing the books, and there are half-a-dozen blighters 
in the waiting room, but I must hear what’s happened, 
even if it ruins the business.” 

He led the way to the study, where they found 
Nancy seated at a roll-top desk, with a couple of for¬ 
midable ledgers spread open in front of her. She 
glanced up at their entrance, and then, laying down her 
pen, swung round smilingly in her chair. 

“You must tear yourself away from work for a 
minute or two,” said Mark. “Colin has come to re¬ 
port progress.” 

He dropped down on the sofa, and, pulling out his 
pipe, began hastily stuffing it with tobacco. 

“Fire ahead,” he continued. “Let’s have the whole 
story. I’m dying to hear what’s happened, and it will 
just give me time for a comfortable smoke.” 

“I’m going to shake hands with Nancy first,” said 
Colin. 

He crossed the room, and, having performed the 
operation, very deliberately seated himself beside her 
on top of the padded brass fire-guard. 

From this position he proceeded to give them a 
brief but lucid sketch of what had taken place at the 
inquest. He described the evidence of the various 
witnesses, the summing-up of the Coroner, and the 
final and unsatisfying verdict of the jury, concluding 


THE RED LODGE 


146 

with a short account of how he had met Mr. Medwin 
and the Inspector after it was over and the views 
which they had expressed with regard to the situation. 

“So, you see, we are more or less at a stop for the 
moment,” he finished. “The police aren’t likely to do 
much until they find the Professor’s old servant or get 
an answer to their cable, and as for Medwin—well, I 
don’t believe he cares the least whether the murder¬ 
er’s discovered or not. The money is what he’s inter¬ 
ested in, and both Marsden and I have got a notion 
that he’s playing some low-down game of his own.” 

“What sort of game?” inquired Nancy, who had 
been listening to the whole narrative with absorbed in¬ 
terest. 

“We don’t know, but Marsden thinks he may have 
some idea who the rightful heir is, and that he’s lying 
low until he sees the chance of pulling off a fat com¬ 
mission.” 

Nancy opened her eyes in astonishment. “Surely 
he wouldn’t be so dishonest!” she exclaimed. 

“I hope not,” replied Colin; “but, after all, he’s a 
lawyer.” 

Mark hoisted himself up in his chair. “I protest,” 
he said. “I am not going to have Nancy’s ingenuous 
mind corrupted by any beastly cynicism.” He turned 
to Colin. “And how about you?” he added more seri¬ 
ously. “This infernal business must have played the 
mischief with all your plans.” 

“Oh, I’m just marking time,” said Colin. “I mean 
to see this thing through before I attempt to do any¬ 
thing else.” 


THE RED LODGE 


147 


Mark nodded approvingly. “That’s right,” he re¬ 
marked. “That’s your job, plain enough.” He 
glanced at Nancy. “I’m afraid our idea won’t work,” 
he added. 

“Is it a secret?” demanded Colin. 

“Well, as a matter of fact I was going to ask you 
whether you could do us a good turn. If you’re busy, 
however-” 

“I should have to be devilish busy to let you down,” 
said Colin. “What’s the trouble?” 

“It’s Mary’s mother,” was the answer. “There’s 
been some unexpected development in the case, and 
they have got to operate the day after to-morow. 
Mary is desperately anxious for me to go up, and I 
can’t possibly get away unless I can find someone to 
look after the practice. I thought that you might be 
able to manage it, but-” 

“ ‘But’ be blowed,” interrupted Colin. “I only 
want to be around in case Marsden needs me, and I 
shall be quite as handy here as at the Palace Hotel. 
How long do you expect to be away?” 

“I don’t suppose I shall be more than a couple of 
days. It just depends whether the operation is a suc¬ 
cess.” 

“Well, consider that settled,” said Colin. “It won’t 
interfere with my plans in the least; in fact, I shall be 
only too glad to have something else to think about.” 

Mark got up from the sofa, and, crossing the rug, 
held out his hand. 

“Put it there, my son,” he said gratefully. “You’re 
a good pal, and the family thanks you.” 




THE RED LODGE 


148 

Colin laughed. “You’d better wait till you come 
back,” he replied. “You’ll probably find that I’ve 
cured half your patients.” 

“I don’t care a hang about what you do with them,” 
said Mark callously. He turned toward Nancy. “I 
shall leave you in charge of each other,” he added. 
“You must keep Colin posted in his job, and he must 
look after you and try to make himself agreeable.” 
He paused, and added chaffingly, “I don’t know 
whether Major Fenton will approve of the arrange¬ 
ment, but I’m afraid we’ve hardly time to consult 
him.” 

There was a brief but pregnant silence. 

“Major Fenton?” repeated Colin blankly. 

Mark chuckled. “You’ve met him, haven’t you? 
A kind of adopted uncle of Nancy’s. He rolled up 
here quite unexpectedly about half-past twelve this 
morning. I suppose he really came to see whether 
the place was respectable or not, and on the whole 
I think we managed to set his mind at rest. Anyhow, 
he made himself extremely pleasant, so of course I 
asked him to stop to lunch.” 

Colin flashed a quick glance at Nancy, who was 
looking distinctly uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” he said, “that explains things. I thought I 
caught sight of him in the street just as I was leaving 
the station.” 

“He appears to take a great interest in Nancy,” 
pursued Mark, with a mischievous smile, “but some¬ 
how or other she doesn’t exactly seem to appreciate 


THE RED LODGE 


149 

“I didn’t invite him here,” protested Nancy, “and 
I don’t think he had any right to come.” 

Before Mark could reply there was a tap outside, 
and the harassed features of Martha Jane intruded 
themselves round the door. 

“If you please, doctor,” she said, “there’s another 
four patients in the waiting room. That makes nine 
altogether.” 

“Oh, damn!” said Mark. “I suppose I must go 
down and see them. You’ll stay to tea, Colin, of 
course?” 

“If I’m not in the way,” was the answer. “Per¬ 
haps I’d better go out for a stroll and come back.” 

“You stop here and talk to Nancy,” replied Mark. 
“There’s no hurry about the books, and she can save 
me a lot of trouble by explaining how we run the prac¬ 
tice. She really knows rather more about it than I 
do.” 

He knocked out his pipe, and, thrusting it into his 
pocket, hurried off downstairs on the heels of Martha 
Jane. 

Colin closed the door and came back to where 
Nancy was sitting. 

“So Fenton’s sense of duty is still in good working 
order,” he observed. 

With a little impatient gesture Nancy brushed aside 
a stray curl. 

“I was very annoyed at his coming down here,” she 
said. “If I’d thought for a moment that he was going 
to do a thing like that I shouldn’t have given him my 
address.” 


150 


THE RED LODGE 


Colin took up his old position on the fiie-guard 
and looked thoughtfully into her indignant blue 
eyes. 

“What did he want, Nancy?” he asked. 

“Oh, it was only to invite me to dine and go to a 
theatre with him on Wednesday. Of course, he could 
just as well have written to me or rung me up on the 
telephone.” 

“And did you accept?” 

Nancy shrugged her shoulders. “I couldn’t very 
well help it. He asked me while we were at lunch, 
and I didn’t like to say I was engaged, because Doctor 
Ashton would have known it was untrue.” 

“Otherwise you would have refused him?” 

Nancy nodded. “It may seem ungrateful, but as a 
matter of fact I don’t want to see Major Fenton again. 
I never liked him very much, and the last time I was 

with him he-—” She hesitated. “Oh, well, he was 

different in a way, and, to put it quite plainly, I liked 
him even less. Besides, I haven’t forgotten the horrid 
things he said about you.” 

Colin searched in his pocket and pulled out the re¬ 
port which Marsden had given him. 

“That makes my job a bit easier,” he remarked. 

She gazed curiously at the slip of paper. 

“What’s that?” she demanded. 

Colin sat back, still holding it in his hand. 

“I’ve been doing a quite unpardonable sort of thing, 
Nancy,” he said. “Before I tell you, will you promise 
to forgive me?” 

“Certainly,” she said, smiling. “I can always for- 



THE RED LODGE 


Hi 

give anything that’s really unpardonable. It makes 
one feel so nice and generous.” 

Without waiting for further encouragement Colin 
plunged at once into a full description of how he had 
taken advantage of the Inspector’s half-joking offer 
to make some inquiries with regard to Fenton’s char¬ 
acter and reputation. He told the whole story quite 
simply, allowing his own motives in the matter to be 
taken for granted, and ended by reading her the re¬ 
port. 

Nancy, who had listened to him gravely, made no 
comment until he had finished. 

Then with a quaint and rather rueful little laugh 
she looked up into his face. 

“It’s a disappointing world, isn’t it?” she said. “I 
did honestly believe that there was something kind and 
unselfish about his original intentions.” She paused. 
“And you say you saw him in the street? Why, he 
must have left here over an hour ago.” 

“I saw him all right,” repeated Colin. 

He went on to describe his meeting with Joe and 
the interesting events which had ensued on their aft 
rival at Shadwell station. 

“I may be prejudiced,” he concluded, “but I’m be¬ 
ginning to think that he’s an even bigger scoundrel 
than the police give him credit for. Anyhow, it’s per¬ 
fectly plain that he’s been lying to you from start to 
finish.” 

“But why should he?” objected Nancy. 

It was Colin’s turn to hesitate. “Well, after all, 
you’re rather pretty, you know,” he said lamely. 


152 


THE RED LODGE 


Nancy laughed again. “I’ve no doubt you’re right,” 
she said, “but I don’t see that it solves the difficulty. 
He couldn’t have known what I was like when he came 
and hunted me out.” 

“No, that’s true,” admitted Colin. He got off his 
seat and paced slowly up and down the room. “There’s 
something behind all this, Nancy,” he added; “some in¬ 
fernal mystery that we don’t understand.” 

“There is,” agreed Nancy; “but I mean to under¬ 
stand it, and very soon, too.” 

Colin stopped. “You’re not thinking of keeping 
that appointment?” 

She nodded. “Of course I’m going to keep it. 
If I don’t, how can I find out what he wants?” She 
rose from her chair and came forward to where Colin 
was standing. “I—I’m awfully grateful for what 
you’ve done,” she said shyly, “and I can’t tell you what 
a comfort it is to know that I’ve got someone who’s 
ready to help me.” She paused. “All the same,” 
she added, “I’m not in the least frightened of Major 
Fenton. I’ve had a lot of practice in looking after 
myself.” 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


With an inward sigh of relief Colin opened the door 
of the surgery, and beckoned to the solitary old 
woman who was still sitting grimly in the corner of 
the waiting room. She was the thirty-fourth patient 
he had interviewed that morning, and the prospect 
of a well-earned lunch with Nancy was beginning to 
dangle pleasantly in front of his exhausted spirits. 

The old woman entered the surgery, and, after 
placing a bulky string bag upon his consulting table, 
deposited herself in an armchair alongside. 

Colin took his own seat and smiled at her encourag¬ 
ingly. 

“Well, mother,” he said, “what’s the matter?” 

The patient folded her hands. “I’ve bin pizened,” 
she said. “That’s wot’s the matter with me, young 
man. I’ve bin pizened.” 

Colin sat back and nodded gravely. “When did 
this happen?” he inquired. 

“Ha!” said the lady, rather bitterly. “That’s the 
very pint I’m cornin’ to. Are you a pertickler friend 
o’ Doctor Hashton’s?” 

“I am,” said Colin. “That’s why I’m taking his 
practice.” 

“In that case,” continued the visitor, “I don’t mind 
telling you, young man, that it was ’im as done it.” 

153 


154 


THE RED LODGE 


“What, poisoned you?” exclaimed Colin. “Surely 
not.” 

The lady reached for her bag, and, after fumbling 
among its contents, produced a half empty bottle of 
medicine. She handed this to Colin, who examined 
the label. 

“Are you Mrs. Jones?” he inquired. 

“That’s right, young man,” was the answer. “Mrs. 
Jones o’ Baxter’s Rents, and there ain’t no one in 
Shadwell wot can say to the contrary.” 

“And why do you think that Doctor Ashton has pois¬ 
oned you?” 

Mrs. Jones leaned forward mysteriously and tapped 
the bottle. 

“You can see for yourself, young man. ’E’s given 
me the wrong medicine. Mind you, I don’t say that 
’e done it a purpose. I expect ’e was a bit ’urried and 
made a mistake. All the same, there ain’t no gettin’ 
away from it. ’E’s given me the wrong medicine, an’ 
I’m pizened.” 

Colin extracted the cork and took a sniff at the con¬ 
tents. 

“It seems all right to me,” he observed. 

“There’s nothing wrong with the smell,” admitted 
Mrs. Jones. “It’s the colour wot I’m speakin’ about.” 

“What’s the matter with the colour?” demanded 
Colin. “Some of the best medicines are red.” 

“Not mine,” returned Mrs. Jones doggedly. “My 
medicine’s yeller, always ’as bin. The moment I set 
me eyes on that bottle I says to meself, ‘ ’E’s made a 
mistake.’ ” 


THE RED LODGE 


155 


“Then why on earth did you take it?” 

Mrs. Jones looked a trifle surprised. “Weli, young 
man, I’d paid ninepence for it, an’, not knowin’ then 
as it was pizen, I didn’t see no reason for wastin’ the 
money.” 

“And you say it made you ill?” 

“It’s only through the mercy o’ Gawd that I’m 
sittin’ ’ere now,” said Mrs. Jones impressively. 
“D’rec’ly the third dose passed me lips I come over 
queer.” 

Colin poured out a little of the medicine into a glass 
and tasted it judiciously. 

“I don’t think you’ve any reason to be anxious, Mrs. 
Jones,” he said. “Doctor Ashton was only trying you 
with a new prescription. It’s a very good one indeed, 
but I suppose it doesn’t quite suit your constitution.” 

Mrs. Jones looked round and lowered her voice. 
“If that’s the case,” she demanded, “why ’as ’e run 
away?” 

“He hasn’t run away,” said Colin. “He’s coming 
back to-morrow or the next day. He’s only gone up 
north to look after his wife’s mother.” 

There was a pause. 

“Well,” said Mrs. Jones doubtfully, “I ’as my own 
opinions on that point, but seein’ as ’ow you’re a friend 
of ’is I don’t blame you for standin’ up for ’im. Be¬ 
sides, between you an’ me, young man, I wouldn’t get 
Doctor Hashton into trouble, not on no account. We 
all make mistakes at times, even the best of us. You 
give me a bottle o’ the yeller medicine, the same as I 
always ’as, an’ I sha’n’t say no more about it.” 


156 


THE RED LODGE 


“Right you are,” said Colin. He rose from his 
chair, and, crossing to the cupboard where Mark kept 
two or three innocuous and highly coloured mixtures 
ready made up, filled a bottle with the desired specific. 

Mrs. Jones inspected it with approval. 

“I’m much obliged to you, young man,” she ob¬ 
served. “Hall’s well that hends well, as the sayin’ is. 
You can tell the doctor from me that ’e won’t ’ear no 
more o’ this, so ’e can come back ’ome just as soon as 
ever ’e likes.” 

She tucked away the bottle in her bag and made 
her exit through the side door, which Colin had 
stepped forward to open for her. As she passed out 
Martha Jane appeared in the passage. 

“Are you ready for lunch, sir?” she inquired. 

“I’m more than ready,” said Colin. “I’m posi¬ 
tively aching for it.” 

Martha Jane nodded sympathetically. “It must 
be ’ard work for a young gentleman like you, sir, ’avin’ 
to sit there and listen to all them diseases. You go 
along into the dinin’ room and I’ll run up and tell Miss 
Nancy. I sha’n’t keep you waitin’ more than a couple 
o’ minutes.” 

Colin returned to his desk, and, having completed 
his report, with a brief entry on the subject of Mrs. 
Jones, made his way out into the hall, where he en¬ 
countered Nancy in the act of descending the staircase. 

“I’ll be with you in a second,” he said. “I’m just 
going to remove the germs.” 

He hurried across to the cloak room, and, after 
changing his coat and indulging in a welcome bout with 


THE RED LODGE 


i 57 

a basin of hot water, emerged again in a hungry but 
contented humour. 

Nancy was already seated at the table, looking 
disturbingly pretty in her severe and businesslike cos¬ 
tume. Although, on his arrival at the surgery, they 
had spent a crowded quarter of an hour together, 
opening the post and discussing the day’s work, this 
was the first opportunity they had had for anything 
like a private conversation. 

“Well,” she inquired cheerfully, “how have you 
been getting on this morning?” 

Colin sank into the vacant chair and stretched out 
his hand toward the whisky. 

“I’m still alive,” he said, “but that’s about all. 
Every day, in every respect, my admiration for Mark 
grows deeper and deeper.” 

Nancy pushed across the soda. “I often wonder 
he hasn’t broken down,” she said. “It’s only sheer 
good nature and kindness that keep him going. He 
comes in to lunch every day and says the most blood¬ 
curdling things about the patients, but in his heart he 
just loves them all.” 

“I know he does,” returned Colin, “and I’ve been 
trying to copy his example. It’s thirsty work, though, 
when you come to people like Mrs. Jones.” He took 
a long drink and set down the tumbler. “By the way, 
is there any news from him?” 

“Not yet,” said Nancy. “The operation was to 
be at ten o’clock, and he promised to wire directly he 
knew the result. We shall probably get a telegram 
this afternoon.” 


THE RED LODGE 


158 

Colin attacked the roast chicken, which Martha 
Jane had cooked to perfection, and passed over a gen¬ 
erous helping. 

“And what about last night?” he inquired. “I 
had no time to ask you anything this morning, but I’m 
longing to hear how Fenton behaved himself.” 

“Well, to begin with,” said Nancy, “he asked me 
to marry him.” 

Colin paused in the act of dissecting a wing. 

“Did he, by Jove! I hope you told him to go to 
blazes?” 

“Something rather similar,” said Nancy, “only I 
tried to put it as nicely as possible.” 

“And how did he take it?” 

Nancy paused. “It may sound conceited,” she re¬ 
plied, “but I should say he was more angry and disap* 
pointed than any one I ever saw in my life.” 

“I can quite believe it,” said Colin. “You’re just 
the sort of girl who’d make a man feel like that.” 

She shook her head. “I’m not trying to be modest, 
Colin. I know I’m pretty—even other women have 
told me so—but I assure you my looks have got noth¬ 
ing to do with the matter. Do you suppose that a 
girl doesn’t know when a man is really in love with 
her? Major Fenton doesn’t care that for me.” She 
snapped her fingers. 

“I shouldn’t wonder if you’re right,” agreed Colin. 
“A chap with a face like that could hardly have much 
capacity for romance. I should say that champagne 
was more in his line.” 

“All the same,” said Nancy, “he’s quite serious 


THE RED LODGE 159 

about wanting to marry me, and, what’s more, he’s 
made up his mind that he’s going to do it.’ 

“How do you mean?” inquired Colin. “Did he 
turn nasty when you told him it was a wash-out?” 

“Very nasty,” said Nancy calmly. “He accused me 
of all sorts of things, my chief crime being that I’ve 
allowed myself to be influenced by you.” 

“Well, I don’t want to brag,” admitted Colin mod¬ 
estly, “but I’ve certainly done my best. Does he know 
that I’m taking Mark’s practice?” 

She nodded. “Yes, I’d told him at the beginning 
of dinner. I suppose that was what put the idea into 
his head.” She stopped. “Colin,” she said, “don’t 
think me stupid and melodramatic, but do you know, 
I am really rather frightened. There was something 
in the way he spoke about you, something that made 
me feel as if—oh, I know it sounds ridiculous—but as 
if you were in actual danger.” 

Colin sat back and smiled contentedly. “This is 
too good to be true,” he observed. “I’ve been longing 
to punch his head ever since he told you that lie about 
my leaving the hospital.” 

“But you don’t understand,” persisted Nancy. “He 
wouldn’t try anything himself, of course; he’s much 
more likely to pay someone else to do it. You go 
about alone all over the place, and in a rough neigh¬ 
bourhood like Shadwell-” 

“You needn’t be anxious,” interrupted Colin. “I 
shall keep my eyes open, I promise you. If Fenton’s 
got hold of the idea that I’m in his way, I can quite 
believe he’ll stick at nothing.” He paused. “What 



160 THE RED LODGE 

beats me altogether,” he added, “is why he wants to 
make you his wife. You haven’t the least doubt that 
he’s really in earnest?” 

“Not the least. He even went so far as talking 
about a special license, and suggesting that we should 
be married this week.” 

“That makes it fishier still,” said Colin, frowning. 
He stared thoughtfully at his plate for a moment or 
two, and then suddenly pushed back his chair. “I 
know what I shall do,” he continued. “I shall tell 
Marsden the whole story and ask him for his advice. 
I’m perfectly certain there’s some damned crooked 
business at the back of it.” 

“But you can’t possibly bother the police,” objected 
Nancy. “After all, Major Fenton has only asked me to 
marry him, and there’s nothing very criminal in that.” 

“Depends on what you call criminal,” said Colin. 
“I should say he deserved ten years for his confounded 
cheek.” 

As he spoke the door opened and Martha Jane in¬ 
serted her head. 

“Would you like any sweet?” she inquired. 
“There’s a nice plum tart in the kitchen if either of 
you fancy a bit.” 

Colin glanced at his watch. 

“It sounds alluring,” he said, “but I don’t think I 
can spare the time. I must start out on my round at 
half-past, and I shall have to run through the cases 
first and see what I’ve got to take with me.” 

He rose from his chair, Nancy following his ex¬ 
ample. 


THE RED LODGE 


161 


Martha Jane looked at them both with disapproval. 

“You’re as bad as the doctor, every bit,” she ob¬ 
served. “ ’Ow do you expect to keep well if you don’t 
feed proper? What with this here snatching and 
picking it’s a wonder to me that you ain’t all in your 
graves.” 

“You might give us an extra good tea to make up 
for it,” suggested Colin. 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” said Nancy. “I’m 
afraid I shall be out when you get back. I’ve prom¬ 
ised to go round and see old Mrs. Merivale, one of 
Mark’s patients.” 

“Oh!” 

Colin’s face fell. “That’s a blow,” he said sadly. 
“I can never enjoy my tea properly unless someone 
pours it out for me.” 

“I daresay Martha Jane will do it if you ask her 
nicely,” said Nancy. “In any case, I’ll try and get 
back in time for the second cup.” 

With an encouraging smile she passed out into the 
hall, and, having paused to light himself a cigarette, 
Colin returned to the surgery. 

Half an hour later, with Mark’s black bag in one 
hand and a stout stick in the other, he set forth into 
the chill and uninviting atmosphere of the December 
afternoon. He was not disturbed by Nancy’s vague 
alarm with regard to his personal safety, but his prac¬ 
tice took him into a pretty rough neighbourhood, and 
a good tough ash seemed to him a distinctly suitable 
companion. 

As it turned out, however, the precaution was an 


i 62 


THE RED LODGE 


unnecessary one. During his long ramble through the 
lowest parts of Shadwell he met with nothing but good- 
natured civility. Wherever he went, down sordid 
alleys and up rickety staircases, a friendly welcome 
invariably awaited him. His experience at the hos¬ 
pital had given him the knack of getting on readily 
with poor people, and, since he had done the same 
round on the previous day, he was already on familiar 
terms with most of his patients. 

By the time he returned to the surgery it was close 
on five o’clock. Darkness was rapidly setting in, and 
the feeling that his out-of-door duty was over for the 
day seemed to lend an additional attraction to the 
warmth and comfort of the brightly lit hall. 

As he closed the front door Martha Jane emerged 
from the kitchen. 

“A man came to see you just after you’d gone out, 
sir,” she informed him. “Party of the name of Bates. 
Said he’d call again.” 

Colin, who had heard nothing of Joe since they had 
parted outside the station, received the news with no 
little interest. 

“Did he mention any particular time?” he asked. 

“No, sir. ’E just said ’e’d look round again later.” 

“Well, let me know at once if he does,” he replied. 
“I’ll see him immediately, no matter how many people 
are waiting.” 

Martha Jane nodded. “There’s a letter and a tele¬ 
gram come for you too, sir. They’re over there on 
the hall table.” She paused. “Per’aps as Miss 
Nancy’s out you’d like your tea in the surgery?” 


THE RED LODGE 163 

“Yes, that will be best,” said Colin. “You can 
bring it along in as soon as it’s ready.” 

He divested himself of his coat, and, crossing to the 
table, picked up the telegram. As he expected, it 
bore the Lincoln postmark, and with eager fingers he 
slit open the flap and pulled out the contents. 

“Operation a complete success. Shall be home 
to-morrow about one.— Mark.” 

He turned to Martha Jane. 

“This is from Doctor Ashton,” he said. “Every¬ 
thing has gone off splendidly, and he hopes to be back 
to-morrow.” 

“ ’E would,” was the answer. “Wild ’orses 
wouldn’t keep ’im from work, not so long as ’e’s got 
a breath in his body.” 

Colin laughed, and, taking up the letter, walked 
forward into the surgery. A bright fire was burning 
away cheerfully in the grate, and, having flicked on the 
electric light, he seated himself at his desk and pro¬ 
ceeded to open the envelope. 

A single glance at the letter inside showed him that 
it was from Inspector Marsden. 

“Scotland Yard, 

“ Thursday, December 12th. 

“Dear Doctor Gray, —You will be interested 
to hear that we have at last managed to pick up 
the tracks of William Kennedy, Professor Carter’s 
servant. It seems that he has been very ill, and for 


THE RED LODGE 


164 

the last two months has been living in an out-of- 
the-way village in Hertfordshire under the care of 
an old female cousin. The latter, who is apparently 
unable to read, had heard nothing about the murder, 
and it was only last night that Kennedy was in¬ 
formed of the facts. I am making arrangements 
to motor down and interview him to-morrow. I 
don’t suppose I shall be back at the Yard until the 
evening, but if you would care to look in any time 
after six I shall be pleased to see you and to let you 
know the result of my journey. 

“I am, 

“Yours sincerely, 
“James Marsden.” 

With considerable satisfaction Colin folded the 
letter and put it away in his pocket. It was a relief 
to know that things were moving at last, for, even if 
Kennedy were unable to throw any direct light on the 
murder, the information he could supply with regard 
to the Professor’s private life might well be the 
starting-point for further discoveries. 

He was pondering over the possibilities of the sit¬ 
uation when Martha Jane arrived with his tea. She 
had evidently accepted her appointment as Nancy’s 
understudy in a serious spirit, for she not only filled 
his cup, but stood by with watchful solicitude until she 
was certain that he was provided with everything that 
he required. 

Just as she was turning to leave the room there came 
a ring at the bell. 


THE RED LODGE 165 

“I wonder if that’s our friend Joe Bates,” said 
Colin. “If it is, bring him in at once.” 

There was an interval of nearly a minute, and then, 
looking rather flushed and ruffled, Martha Jane re¬ 
appeared, closing the door behind her. 

“It ain’t ’im,” she announced; “it’s a patient. ’E’s 
waiting outside.” She nodded toward the hall. 

“Oh, hang it all!” exclaimed Colin. “This is my 
hour off. I’m not going to see any more patients until 
six. Why on earth didn’t you tell him?” 

“Tell ’im!” repeated Martha Jane indignantly. “I 
told ’im right enough.” 

“And do you mean to say he won’t go away?” 

“ ’E just pushed me on one side and sat himself 
down,” was the answer. “ ’E says ’e means to wait 
’ere until you come out.” 

Colin rose to his feet, and, swiftly crossing the room, 
threw open the door. 

A man who was seated on one of the hall chairs 
jumped up at his appearance. He was a rough-looking 
customer of the longshoreman type, with a deep scar 
on one side of his face and a dirty handkerchief 
knotted round his neck. 

Colin walked up to him. 

“What do you mean by forcing your way into the 
house?” he demanded. “If you want to see me you 
can go round to the surgery and wait until it’s open.” 

The intruder stood his ground, fumbling awkwardly 
with his cap. 

“No offence, doctor,” he muttered. “If I done 
wrong I asks yer pardon.” 


166 


THE RED LODGE 


“Well, you heard what I said,” returned Colin. 
“There’s the door behind you.” 

The man still made no attempt to move. “Don’t 
be ’ard, doctor,” he said hoarsely. “I want yer to 
come along and see a pal o’ mine, a pore bloke wot’s 
’ad a haccident dahn at Truscott’s wharf.” 

Colin shook his head. “I can’t manage it now,” he 
said. “I’ve got to be here at six to see my patients.” 

“You can be back before then, doctor,” persisted 
the other eagerly. “It’s only a step from ’ere—s’elp 
me Gawd, it is.” 

“I know the place,” said Colin. “It will take a 
good twenty minutes to get there.” 

“ ’E ain’t on the wharf now,” explained the other. 
“We’ve carried ’im along to ’is own ’ouse.” 

“Where’s that?” demanded Colin. 

The man hesitated. “It’s dahn at the bottom o* 
Flood Lane. One o’ them old ’ouses backin’ on the 
river.” 

Colin recognized the spot from his description—a 
ruinous and half-deserted slum, most of which had 
already been demolished. Before he could speak, 
however, the visitor resumed his petition. 

“For Gawd’s sake come along an’ ’ave a look at ’im, 
guv’nor. We can’t find no other doctor, an’ Vs 
sufferin’ somethin’ crool.” 

Colin glanced at his watch. “Oh, very well,” he 
said curtly. “I sha’n’t have time to attend to the man 
properly, but if I find it’s a matter for surgical treat¬ 
ment I’ll give you a note to the hospital. Just wait 
here and I’ll be with you in a minute.” 


THE RED LODGE 


167 

He stepped back into the consulting room, and, 
crossing to the opposite door, summoned Martha 
Jane. 

“When Miss Nancy comes in,” he said, “you might 
tell her that I’ve been called out on an urgent case. 
I’m only going as far as the bottom of Flood Lane, so 
I shall be back by six.” 

He thrust one or two articles which might be 
needed into his bag, and, hurrying out again into the 
hall, unhooked his hat and coat. 

“What sort of injury is it?” he asked, as the front 
door closed behind them. “A broken leg or some¬ 
thing of that kind?” 

His companion, who was slightly ahead of him, 
pushed open the small iron gate and turned to the left 
in the direction of the river. 

“No,” he answered slowly, “ ’e ain’t broke nothing 
—leastways, not as I knows of. The pain’s inside 
of ’im, so ’e says. Twisted ’is guts, I reckon, from 
the way ’e’s carryin’ on.” 

He relapsed into silence, and, checking his pace a 
few yards farther on, led the way down a dark and 
narrow alley. 

They emerged on to a desolate strip of waste land, 
where stray piles of brick and other refuse were 
dotted about forlornly under the light of a solitary 
street lamp. Exactly opposite them were the partly 
demolished remains of a large warehouse, with two 
crazy and tumble-down houses still standing along¬ 
side. Behind these, half a mile wide, ran the dark 
and sluggish current of the Thames. 


168 THE RED LODGE 

Colin’s guide pointed across toward the dilapidated 
dwellings. 

“That’s the ’ouse,” he observed, “the end one o’ 
them two. You want to step careful, doctor; there’s 
a number o’ bad places abaht ’ere.” 

He set forward again, picking his way deliberately 
between the heaps of debris and the numerous pools 
of dirty water which infested the whole district. 
Colin followed close behind him, and after several 
minutes of this unpleasant progress they came out 
on to a muddy and deserted roadway which ran 
parallel with the river. 

Colin glanced back over the route they had come. 
“A nice open situation,” he remarked, “but I should 
think that the people who lived here were rather apt 
to break their necks.” 

“It’s an orkard spot to get to in the dark,” admitted 
his companion. “You’ll be all right though, doctor. 
I’ll see yer back meself as far as Flood Lane.” 

He crossed the road and advanced toward the 
houses, one of which appeared to be uninhabited. A 
dim light was burning on the ground floor of the sec¬ 
ond, and, mounting the broken step, he rapped twice 
on the door with his knuckles. 

After some delay it was opened by a gaunt, haggard¬ 
looking woman, who held up the candle she was 
carrying and peered suspiciously into the darkness. 
She evidently recognized the visitor, for without in¬ 
quiring his business she stepped back silently against 
the wall. 

“That’s ’is wife,” observed the man, turning to 


THE RED LODGE 169 

Colin. “She’s a bit queer in the ’ead, so you won’t 
get nothing out of ’er.” 

He moved aside to make room for Colin’s entrance, 
and then, closing the door behind them, addressed 
himself to the woman. 

With a furtive nod she started off along the passage, 
at the end of which there was another room facing 
the front door. 

Colin, who had turned to follow her, took a pace 
forward. It was only one pace, for as his foot touched 
the ground something soft and heavy came down with 
a blinding thud on the back of his head. Half 
stunned by the blow, he pitched forward full length 
on to the rough and uncarpeted boards, and at the 
same instant two men sprang forward out of the 
room, and flung themselves heavily on top of him. 

What happened during the next few minutes seemed 
to belong to the world of nightmare. He had a vague 
impression of fighting desperately with fists and teeth 
and feet; then a savage hand gripped him by the 
throat, and everything was wiped out in a sudden and 
suffocating blackness. 


“I tell yer I knows ’im. It’s the swine that was 
’elpin’ the cops when they pulled ‘Ginger Dick.’ ” 
The hoarse voice, which sounded very far away, 
penetrated slowly into Colin’s mind, and, opening 
his eyes, he stared up at the speaker. 

He was still in the passage, stretched out flat on his 
back, with his ankles tied together and his arms bound 


170 


THE RED LODGE 


tightly to his sides. Three men were standing round 
him, and, in spite of the dim light and the almost 
stupefying pain in his head, he had no difficulty in rec¬ 
ognizing them. The bloodstained face that was 
scowling at him had been engraved on his memory 
ever since the day when he first met Nancy. It be¬ 
longed to the ruffian who had led the attack on Mars- 
den and had kicked him in the ribs when he was lying 
helpless on the ground. The other two were the 
plausible visitor to the surgery and Mr. “Spike” 
Cooper. 

It was the latter who replied to the first man’s out¬ 
burst. 

“What the hell’s that got to do with it, anyway?” 
he drawled. “I’m here on business, and it don’t mat¬ 
ter a cuss to me whether he’s your long-lost brother.” 

“It matters to me though,” growled the other. “I 
’ad somethin’ up against ’im before, an’ now ’e’s 
bashed ’alf me faice in with ’is blarsted boot. Taike 
that, yer swine!” 

He lifted his foot, but before he could accomplish 
his genial purpose a violent shove from “Spike” Cooper 
sent him staggering against the wall. 

“None o’ that, you fool! Didn’t you hear what 
the boss said? If there’s any marks on his body we 
don’t get the money.” He turned to the man with 
the scar, who had watched the fracas with cynical in¬ 
difference. “No good messing about, Jake. Catch 
hold of his feet and we’ll cart him down straight 
away.” 

Suiting the action to the word, the two of them 


THE RED LODGE 


171 

raised him quickly from the floor and carried him for¬ 
ward through the open doorway. With a muttered 
oath the third accomplice pulled himself together and 
lurched in after them. 

All effective resistance being out of the question 
Colin made no attempt to struggle or cry out. He 
felt certain that death was very close at hand, and his 
whole being was racked with a sick fury as he thought 
of the easy way in which he had allowed himself to 
be trapped. 

Through his half-closed eyes he saw that the room 
which they had entered was in a state of indescribable 
filth. The floor was littered with empty bottles and 
old newspapers, the damp plaster was peeling off the 
bare walls, and the small window, which apparently 
looked out on to the river, was thickly coated with 
grime. 

In the left-hand corner the raised flap of a trapdoor 
was just visible in the gloom. His two bearers dropped 
him unceremoniously on the boards alongside, and 
with a curt air of authority “Spike” Cooper jerked 
his thumb toward the hole. 

“You get down first, Jake,” he said, “and we’ll 
lower him through.” 

Jake accepted the order without comment, and, 
swinging himself into the opening, began slowly dis¬ 
appearing from view down the rungs of a rusty iron 
ladder. 

A moment later there came a muffled voice from 
below. 

“Right you are, mate.” 


172 


THE RED LODGE 


Dragging Colin’s feet toward the edge, the other 
two men jerked him roughly from the ground. The 
next instant his legs were dangling in space, and with 
the iron rungs bumping against his back he slid rapidly 
down into the darkness below. 

Just before he reached the bottom he felt himself 
clutched round the waist by a pair of strong arms. 
Then he was lifted clear of the ladder, and dumped 
heavily on to a damp stone floor. 

After a brief interval “Spike” Cooper also de¬ 
scended, and, producing an electric torch, switched on 
the light. Colin saw that they were in a large cellar, 
the walls of which were dripping with wet slime. Ex¬ 
cept for the trapdoor there appeared to be only one 
other opening—a heavily barred grating some eight 
feet from the floor. 

Bending down over his prisoner, “Spike” Cooper 
flashed the light full in his face. 

“That was a dandy fight of yours, mister,” he 
drawled slowly, “and I’m real sorry we got to put 
you through it.” 

Colin looked up at him unflinchingly. “You seem 
to take a long time about committing a murder,” he 
said. “Why don’t you finish the job and clear out?” 

The other shook his head. “That’s just the 
trouble,” he replied, with a touch of regret in his 
voice. “In order to suit the party that’s arranging 
this little affair you got to be found drowned—picked 
out of the Thames. See, mister?” 

Colin glanced round, and in a sudden flash the real 
meaning of the dripping walls became hideously ap- 


THE RED LODGE 


173 

parent. With a strong effort he managed to control 
his voice. 

“So that’s your plan, is it?” he said. “I’m to be 
left here until the cellar’s flooded?” 

“Spike” Cooper nodded. “It’s a dog’s trick,” he 
admitted reluctantly, “but I guess you’ll find it as 
easy a death as any other. Soon as the water’s up 
level with that grating it pours in here like a Gawd- 
damned Niagara.” He paused. “What I’m buckin’ 
up against,” he continued, “is your having to lie here a 
couple of hours waiting for the tide. Seems to be 
kinder cruel, that.” 

In spite of the grim prospect in front of him, Colin 
laughed. 

“Thank you very much,” he replied. “I hope that 
when you’re hanged death will be instantaneous.” 

They were interrupted by an impatient movement 
from the other man. 

“Come along, Spike,” he growled. “Wot the hell’s 
the use o’ standin’ ’ere jawin’?” 

“I guess you’re about right,” was Mr. Cooper’s 
philosophical answer. 

He bent forward once more, and, having satisfied 
himself that the cords were properly fastened, turned 
to follow his companion, who was already halfway 
up the ladder. 

Colin watched them disappear through the opening 
above, then the trapdoor clospd down, leaving him 
in complete darkness. 

A moment later he heard a grinding clang as a 
rusty bolt shot home into its socket. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 

The study clock chimed out the hour of seven, and, 
laying aside the paper she had been looking at, Nancy 
got up from her chair and walked to the window. 
She drew back the blind, and stood there for a minute 
gazing down at, the lighted pavements, where the 
usual throng of poorly dressed women were drifting 
to and fro, intent upon their evening shopping. Then 
with a puzzled and rather anxious expression in her 
face she turned toward the door, and, descending 
the staircase, made her way along the passage as far 
as the kitchen. 

She found Martha Jane standing at the sink, peel¬ 
ing potatoes. 

“I can’t think what can have happened to Doctor 
Gray, Martha,” she said. “I’m really beginning to 
get worried about him.” 

“Don’t you upset yerself, miss,” was the reassuring 
answer. “ ’E’ll be along safe enough in a minute or 
two.” 

“I hope so,” said Nancy. “All the same, it seems 
rather extraordinary. You tell me he said he’d be 
home by six, and here it is just gone seven.” 

“You can’t pay no ’eed to what doctors say,” began 
Martha Jane. “Not that they ain’t as truthful as 
other gentlemen, but-” 


174 







THE RED LODGE 


175 


She was interrupted by a ring at the back-door bell, 
and, wiping her hands on her apron, departed to 
answer the summons. Nancy heard the low rumble 
of a man’s voice, followed almost immediately by the 
sound of returning footsteps. 

“It’s the same party that called before, Miss Nancy. 
A man of the name of Bates. The doctor said he 
wanted to see ’im special, so I s’spose I’d better ask 
’im to wait.” 

“What, Joe Bates the prize-fighter?” exclaimed 
Nancy. “Oh, please bring him in at once. He’s the 
very person I should like to have a talk to.” 

Martha Jane disappeared again into the scullery, 
and a moment later a burly figure in a cap and muffler 
followed her diffidently into the light. 

Nancy welcomed him with an encouraging smile. 

“We have met before, Mr. Bates,” she said. “I 
don’t suppose you remember, but it was one night 
in Whitcomb Street, when I was in the car with Doctor 
Ashton.” 

Joe grinned a trifle nervously. “That’s right, miss,” 
he observed. “I ain’t forgot yer—not me.” He 
pulled off his cap and scratched the back of his closely 
cropped head. “I got a bit o’ noos for the doctor,” 
he continued. “D’you happen to know when ’e’s likely 
to be in, miss?” 

“That’s the very point we were talking about,” re¬ 
plied Nancy. “He went out at half-past five and he 
left a message that he would be back by six at the 
latest.” 

Joe stared at her. “Well, that’s a bit queer,” he 


176 THE RED LODGE 

remarked. “ ’E ain’t the sort to say a thing and 
then not do it.” 

“It’s queerer than it looks,” was Nancy’s answer. 
“Six o’clock is the time at which he sees his outdoor 
patients. He wouldn’t forget that, however busy he 
was.” 

“Did ’e tell yer where ’e was goin’ to?” 

“He told me,” broke in Martha Jane. “Some 
’ouse down at the bottom of Flood Lane.” 

A swift change manifested itself in Joe’s face. 
“Flood Lane!” he almost shouted. “You’re sure ’e 
said Flood Lane?” 

“Of course I am. I ain’t deaf, Mr. Bates.” 

Joe took no notice of the snub. “Wot made ’im 
go there?” he demanded. 

“ ’E was fetched,” replied Martha Jane with some 
asperity. “Fetched by a party who hadn’t no better 
manners-” 

“ ’Ere,” interrupted Joe, “wot was the bloke like? 
You answer me quick.” 

Martha Jane flushed indignantly, but before her lips 
could frame a protest she was forestalled by Nancy. 

“It’s all right, Martha. Mr. Bates is afraid that 
something may have happened to Doctor Gray, and he 
wants to help us. That’s so, isn’t it?” She turned 
quickly to Joe, who nodded his head. 

“Well,” replied Martha Jane, in a slightly mollified 
voice, “ ’e was just a rough common-looking man the 
same as you can see ’anging about the street corners 
I’d know ’im anywhere, though, if only by the scar 
on ’is face.” 



THE RED LODGE 


177 


There was a half-stifled oath from Joe. “Jake 
‘Udson!” he cried. “Jake ’Udson it was for a mil¬ 
lion!” He clenched his fists and glared savagely at 
the two women. “Nah ye can see why he ain’t come 
back.” 

Nancy’s heart was beating swiftly, but to all out¬ 
ward appearance she remained perfectly cool. 

“Don’t waste time,” she said. “Tell me what you 
mean at once. I know that you’re a friend of Doctor 
Gray’s, and I know that he asked you to follow a man 
outside the station.” 

Joe moistened his lips. “That’s it, miss. A bloke 
of the name o’ ‘Spike’ Cooper. ’E’s ’and an’ glove 
with this ’ere Jake ’Udson, an’ there ain’t two dirtier 
blackguards, not in the ’ole o’ London.” 

Nancy’s face had gone very white. “Do you know 
this place—Flood Lane?” she demanded. 

“It’s where ‘Spike’ Cooper’s lodgin’,” was the 
answer. “Leastways, not Flood Lane itself, but dahn 
in one o’ them old ’ouses backin’ on the river. I seen 
’im go in there twice with me own eyes.” He pulled 
on his cap and half turned toward the door. “I’ll 
get inside some’ow, miss. I’ll learn wot they done 
to the doctor if I got to pull the blarsted place 
down.” 

Nancy stepped forward. “Wait a minute,” she 
said quickly. “I’m coming with you.” 

Joe turned and stared at her incredulously. “You 
cornin’ with me?” he repeated. “Why, wot’d be the 
good o’ that, miss?” 

“I can use a revolver,” said Nancy curtly, “and 


THE RED LODGE 


178 

there’s one upstairs in the doctor’s room. You stop 
here while I fetch it.” 

There was something so imperative in her manner 
that Joe attempted no further argument. Removing 
his cap again, he seated himself obediently on a chair, 
and, leaving him and Martha Jane to keep each other 
company, Nancy hurried from the kitchen. 

Going straight to the cloak room, she slipped on a 
mackintosh over her indoor costume and, after rapidly 
donning a hat, ran up the staircase to the study. From 
the top drawer of the writing table she took out a 
small Service revolver which Mark had once exhibited 
to her with some pride as the actual implement with 
which he had formerly waged war against the Flanders 
rats. There was a box of cartridges alongside, and 
after filling all six chambers she thrust the weapon 
into her pocket, and swiftly made her way downstairs 
again to the kitchen. 

Joe, who was still sitting where she had left him, 
rose up at her entrance. It was Martha Jane, how¬ 
ever, who was the first to speak. 

“You can’t go off like this, Miss Nancy,” she ex¬ 
claimed. “Let me fetch a policeman to come with 
you.” 

Nancy shook her head. “There’s no time for 
that,” she replied. “Besides, what can we possibly 
say to a policeman? If we tried to explain he’d only 
think we were mad.” 

“You’re right, miss,” broke in Joe. “This ’ere’s 
a job wot’s got to be done quick, an’ the sooner we 
get to it the better.” 


THE RED LODGE 


179 


“Come along then,” returned Nancy. “I’m ready.” 

She led the way out through the scullery door and, 
pulling open the iron gate, turned to Joe, who had 
followed closely on her heels. 

“You give the orders,” she said, “and I’ll do what¬ 
ever you tell me.” 

The light of the street lamp was shining full upon 
her face, and Joe paused for a moment to inspect her 
admiringly. 

“You got some sense, you ’ave,” he observed, “and 
guts too.” 

“I hope so,” said Nancy. “Anyhow, I’ve got the 
revolver, and that seems to me to be almost as useful.” 

With a chuckle Joe swung on to the pavement, and, 
turning to the left, headed eastward in the direction 
of Flood Lane. 

“It’s this way, miss,” he continued, after a short 
pause. “Seein’ as ’ow we’re workin’ in the dark in a 
manner o’ speakin,’ it ain’t no use makin’ plans, not 
till we reach the ’ouse. The first thing we gotter do 
is to get inside. It don’t sound like an easy job, but 
then, yer never knows.” 

“How many of them do you think there are?” 
asked Nancy. 

“I bin watchin’ the place for two days, an’ I ain’t 
seen no one except ‘Spike’ Cooper an’ this ’ere Jake 
’Udson. I reckon I can ’andle them easy enough so 
long as they don’t start usin’ their knives. If they 
does—well, that’s where that gun o’ yourn may come 
in ’andy.” 

“Shall I give it to you?” suggested Nancy. 


i8o 


THE RED LODGE 


Joe shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I likes 
to ’ave me ’ands free. You stick to it, miss, but don’t 
you begin pluggin’ ’oles in ’em, not unless I tips you 
the orfice. We don’t want no inquests, not if we can 
get ’old of the doctor withaht.” 

They turned into Flood Lane and, passing rapidly 
down the narrow and evil-smelling thoroughfare, 
emerged on the broad stretch of waste land that 
bordered the river bank. 

“That’s where we gotter go to,” said Joe, pointing 
across to the black outline of the warehouse. “There’s 
a way over right enough, but I guess we’d better stick 
to the road. If any one ’appens to be looking out 
they’re less likely to see us.” 

He struck off to the right, and, keeping well under 
the shadow of the opposite wall, guided Nancy 
cautiously forward until they reached the muddy road 
which ran parallel with the river. Crossing this, he 
gained the broken pavement on the farther side, and 
continued his advance until they were within a few 
yards of the warehouse. 

“It’s the second ’ouse you come to from ’ere,” he 
whispered. “I bin thinkin’ it over, an’ if you ain’t 
afraid, miss, it seems to me the best plan’s for you to 
go on a’ead, an’ knock at the door. If they sees 
you alone they may open it jest to find out wot yer 
after.” 

“What shall I say?” inquired Nancy. 

“Don’t you say nothin’. I’ll be ’anging arahnd 
close be’ind, and before they shuts it again I’ll ’ave me 
foot inside. We’ll do the talkin’ then.” 


THE RED LODGE 


181 


Nancy nodded, to show that she understood, and, 
walking on bravely through the gloom, pulled up in 
front of the suspected dwelling. A glimmer of light 
in the front room revealed the presence of a dilapi¬ 
dated knocker. She drew in a long breath, which 
seemed to steady her throbbing heart, and then, step¬ 
ping forward, gave a couple of sharp raps. 

Almost at once she became conscious that someone 
was inspecting her from inside the window. The 
scrutiny must have lasted for several seconds, then the 
face was suddenly withdrawn, and a moment later she 
could hear the approach of shuffling footsteps. 

After another pause the door began to open. It 
went back slowly until there was a space of about 
six inches, and through the gap a pair of suspicious 
eyes peered out at the visitor. 

“Well,” demanded a croaking voice, “wot d’yer 
want ’ere?” 

Even if Nancy had been prepared with a reply she 
Would have had no time to deliver it. Silently as a 
tiger Joe leaped forward out of the darkness, and, 
bringing every ounce of his weight to bear at the right 
moment, hurled himself against the panel. There was 
a shrill cry and the sound of a heavy fall as the door 
crashed inward, then Nancy found herself clutching 
the railings and staring at the vague outline of two 
figures who seemed to be scuffling furiously on the floor 
of the passage. 

She was recalled to action by the voice r r Joe. 

“I got ’er,” he gasped triumphantly. ' Come along 
in. miss, an’ shut the door.” 


i82 


THE RED LODGE 


Snatching out her revolver, Nancy stepped across 
the threshold, and with commendable coolness pro¬ 
ceeded to carry out his instructions. The task only oc¬ 
cupied her a moment, but by the time she had finished, 
Joe was on his feet again, swearing softly to himself 
and sucking vigorously at his left thumb. “Bit me 
to the bone, the ’ell-cat,” he observed. “And I 
’andled ’er gently, too, jest ’cos she ’appened to be a 
woman.” He paused, and, bending forward, listened 
intently. “Darned if it don’t seem as if she was alone 
in the ’ouse,” he added. 

Nancy advanced to where he was standing, and in 
the flickering candle-light which came out through the 
open door of the room looked down at the prostrate 
figure on the ground. It was that of a gaunt, middle- 
aged woman, clad in a dirty dressing gown, with dis¬ 
hevelled hair streaming over her face and neck. A 
rolled-up handkerchief had been thrust into her mouth, 
and her wrists were tied together by the scarf which 
had formerly decorated Joe’s neck. Out of her blood¬ 
shot eyes she glared up malevolently at the pair of 
them. 

Nancy drew back with a shudder. “I hope she 
isn’t much hurt,” she faltered. 

“ TJrt?” repeated Joe indignantly. “It’s me wot’s 
’urt, not ’er. Got ’er teeth in while I was tyin’ ’er up 
an’ ’a.f gnawed me blinkin’ thumb ofl!” He rum¬ 
maged u his pocket, and, after a moment’s search, 
produced a stray length of cord. 

“What arc you going to do?” asked Nancy. 

“Tack her L et together and lock ’er in the room,” 


THE RED LODGE 183 

was the answer. “I’m goin’ over this ’ouse from top 
to bottom, an’—— 

“Look! Look!” With a horrified expression in 
her face Nancy was pointing down toward the floor. 
Joe’s eyes followed the direction of her finger, and a 
sudden oath escaped his lips. 

“Blood!” he cried. “An’ wet blood, too!” 

He stepped into the room, and, snatching up the 
candlestick from the table, hurried back with it into 
the passage. 

“Do you see?” whispered Nancy. “There’s a trail 
of it—all along up to the door.” She put her hand to 
her breast and fought back the numbing fear that 
seemed to be clutching at her heart. 

With blazing eyes Joe turned on the prostrate 
woman. 

“You she-devil!” he roared, shaking his fist. “If 
any ’arm’s come to the doctor through you an’ your 
filthy mates, I’ll rip the skin off all three of yer.” 

Before the word had left his lips Nancy was already 
at the farther door. 

“Quick, Joe!” she cried piteously. “Quick! Bring 
the candle.” 

In two strides the prize-fighter was beside her. 

“You stand back,” he commanded hoarsely, and, 
thrusting the candlestick into her hands, gripped hold 
of the knob. 

As the door swung open Nancy raised the light. 
Its faint gleam flickered round the sordid room, dis¬ 
closing the damp and peeling wallpaper and litter of 
empty whisky bottles which lay about the floor. 



THE RED LODGE 


184 

Joe’s glance travelled swiftly from one corner to 
another. “There’s no one ’ere,” he muttered. “We’d 
best try the floor above.” 

Nancy caught him by the sleeve. “Listen,” she 
cried tensely. “What’s that?” 

From below came an unmistakable sound—the 
steady but muffled splash of running water. 

For a second they both stood there motionless, then, 
with a sudden exclamation, Nancy pushed her way 
past and stumbled blindly forward toward the trap¬ 
door. 

“Joe,” she gasped, “he’s down there! I know 7 it. 
I feel it.” She sank on her knees, and setting the 
candle on the floor beside her, began tugging des¬ 
perately at the iron bolt. 

Recovering from his momentary amazement, Joe 
hurried to her assistance. 

“ ’Ere,” he growled, “let me get at it.” 

He seized hold of the rusty stanchion, and with a 
vicious jerk wrenched it backward. Another heave 
and the heavy flap rose slowly into the air, revealing 
a black, yawning gap and the top rungs of an iron 
ladder. 

Stretched out at full length on her face, Nancy 
thrust the candle over the edge. The light gleamed 
upon a rush and eddy of chocolate-coloured water, and 
then suddenly a frantic cry broke from her lips. 

“Colin! Colin!” 

With a violent imprecation Joe pushed her on one 
side. 

“ ’Old on,” he roared down the trap. “I’m cornin’.” 


THE RED LODGE 


185 

He swung himself through, and dropping with a 
loud splash into the swirling waters, scrambled des¬ 
perately toward the opposite corner, where a man’$ 
head and shoulders were just visible in the gloom. 
Another minute and he would have beeji too late, for 
even as he reached the spot a fresh torrent surged ini 
through the opening, and with a choking sob Colin 
swayed forward and collapsed. 

Keeping his own feet with difficulty, Joe clutched 
hold of the drowning man and dragged him to the 
surface. In doing so he made the discovery that 
Colin’s arms were lashed to his sides, and the full 
nature of the task that confronted him flashed grimly 
across his mind. 

As a veteran boxer, however, the power to think 
quickly and coolly in moments of danger had prac¬ 
tically become an instinct. He realized instantly that 
there was only one chance of escape for both of them, 
and that was to cut through the cords before the in¬ 
coming water rose above their heads. 

Swinging his half-conscious companion round, he 
propped him against the wall. Then, freeing one 
hand, he dragged out the clasp-knife which he always 
carried in his pocket, and wrenched open the blade 
with his teeth. 

As he did so, Colin by great effort managed to 
force a few words from between his chattering 
teeth. 

“There’s another on—round my feet. Cut that 
too if you can.” 

“Right you are!” shouted Joe encouragingly.. 


186 THE RED LODGE 

“Keep it up, doctor, and I’ll ’ave you loose in a couple 
o’ shakes.” 

With feverish haste he accomplished the first part 
of his task, and then, taking a deep breath, plunged 
his way down through the water until his fingers en¬ 
countered the second cord. One vicious slash severed 
the wet strand, and, uncoiling it as rapidly as he could, 
he struggled back to the surface, puffing and gasping 
for air. 

Quick as he had been, there was scarcely a second to 
spare. The water was already up to his chin, and 
Colin, although his legs and arms were now free, was 
far too numbed and exhausted to make more than the 
feeblest efforts on his own behalf. 

Summoning every ounce of his strength, Joe lifted 
the latter bodily in his arms. Then with swaying 
steps he stumbled forward in the direction of the 
trapdoor, where the little yellow flame of the candle 
which Nancy was holding flickered and gleamed above 
their heads. 

“Get ’old of the ladder, guv’nor,” he panted. “Get 
’old of it some’ow and I’ll shove yer up.” 

Colin heard, and with blue and stiffened fingers 
caught desperately at the rungs. 

At the same moment he glanced up toward the 
trap, and there, sharply illuminated in the candle¬ 
light, he saw Nancy’s face bending down toward 
him. 

With something between a sob and a laugh she 
stretched out her hand. 

“Stop as you are now,” came Joe’s voice. “I’m 


THE RED LODGE 187 

goin’ to stoop down so as you can get on top of me. 
All you’ve gotter do is to keep yerself stiff.” 

There was a splash, and a second later Colin’s 
ankles were encircled in a powerful grip. Then his 
feet were resting on Joe’s shoulders, and inch by inch 
he felt himself hoisted upward, until Nancy’s fingers 
closed tightly round his wrists. 

Another heave from below and the upper half of 
his body was through the trap. He thrust out a hand 
to steady himself, and as he did so a sudden wave of 
giddiness overcame him, and he sank sideways into 
Nancy’s arms. 


CHAPTER NINE 


“Colin, Colin dear! It’s all over. You’re safe up 
here with us.” 

He opened his eyes, to find his head resting upon 
Nancy’s shoulder, and the dripping figure of Joe just 
emerging through the trap. For a moment he made 
no attempt to move, then, as the truth of the state¬ 
ment became increasingly clear to him, a contented 
sigh escaped his lips. 

Nancy drew him still closer, her soft cheek pressing 
against his. “Are you much hurt?” she whispered. 

Though feeling curiously disinclined for conver¬ 
sation, Colin managed to find his voice. 

“I don’t think so,” he said weakly. “What I 
really want is a good stiff drink.” 

Joe, who had stepped out on the floor, and picked 
up the candle, glanced hastily round the room, then 
with a sudden exclamation he darted across toward 
a shelf by the bed. 

“ ’Ere we are!” he cried triumphantly. “ ’Ere’s 
the very thing!” 

He wrenched out the cork from a half-empty bottle 
of rum, and hurrying back to where Colin was lying, 
dropped down on one knee alongside of him. 

“ ’Ave a go at this, doctor,” he urged. “Nothing 
like rum to warm yer up when you’re wet through.” 

188 


THE RED LODGE 


189 

He tilted forward the bottle, and, putting his lips 
to the neck, Colin gulped in a generous mouthful. The 
raw spirit sent a comforting glow all through his 
chilled and exhausted body, and with a fresh effort he 
struggled up into a sitting position. 

“Thank you both,” he gasped, with the ghost of a 
smile. “Sorry not to have said it before, but I’m 
only just beginning to get my bearings.” He stared a 
little dizzily from one to the other of them. “Where 
are ‘Spike’ Cooper and his friends, and how in the 
name of all that’s wonderful did you manage to find 
your way here?” 

“It was Joe,” said Nancy. “He had been watching 
this house for the last two days, and he had seen 
them go in and out. When you didn’t come back he 
felt sure you must have been trapped.” 

“So we just come along to see wot was ’appening,” 
continued Joe, removing his mouth from the bottle. 
“And bleedin’ lucky we did, too, judgin’ by the way 
things was shapin’.” 

Colin passed his hand over his forehead. “But 
how did you get in?” he asked. “What have you 
done with the others?” 

“There wasn’t no others,” explained Joe. “Only a 
bitin’, scratchin’ she-devil.” He got up suddenly, and, 
tiptoeing lightly to the door, peered out into the pas¬ 
sage. “Yus,” he added, “she’s still there, blarst ’er.” 

“It’s the old woman who opened the door,” ex¬ 
plained Nancy. “Joe tied her up and gagged her so 
that she shouldn’t be able to interfere. There doesn’t 
seem to be any one else in the house.” 


190 


THE RED LODGE 


“Then the quicker we get out of this the better,” 
exclaimed Colin. “They’ve probably only gone round 
to the nearest pub, and now the cellar’s flooded they 
may be back any minute.” 

“It’s all right,” said Nancy. “I’ve got Mark’s 
pistol with me.” 

“You would have,” returned Colin admiringly. 
“All the same, it would be madness not to make a bolt 
for it while we’ve got the chance. We shall have 
plenty of time to talk when we’re safe outside.” He 
extended an arm to each of them, and with their joint 
assistance scrambled painfully to his feet. “You’ll 
have to help me along at first,” he added; “my legs 
are so cramped I can hardly move a step.” 

“I was afraid they’d killed you,” said Nancy, with 
a queer little gulp. “There was blood all along the 
passage.” 

“Oh, that wasn’t mine,” returned Colin reassuringly. 
“That belonged to one of the other gentlemen whom 
I happened to kick in the face.” 

“We may as well taike this with us,” observed Joe, 
stuffing the remainder of the rum into his pocket. 
“Nah, doctor, you ’ang on tight to me, an’ don’t you 
worry yerself abaht nothin’. We ain’t bein’ stopped 
this journey, not if we runs into the ’ole stinkin’ pack 
of ’em.” 

He slipped an arm like a steel cable round Colin’s 
waist, and, preceded by Nancy carrying the candle, 
they staggered out into the corridor. 

“Don’t you mind treadin’ on ’er,” continued Joe, 
as they approached the squirming figure on the floor. 


THE RED LODGE 


191 

“She’s one o’ them wild cats that it don’t pay to be 
perlite with.” 

Colin himself was in no mood for superfluous 
courtesy, but a timely swerve enabled him to avoid 
the opposite extreme, and the next minute they had 
hobbled down the steps, and were standing on the 
pavement. 

Blowing out the candle, and placing it on the 
ground, Nancy closed the door behind them. 

Joe held out his free hand toward her. “Better 
let me ’ave the gun, miss,” he remarked. “We might 
meet ’em before we gets to Flood Lane, and, seein’ 
as they means mischief, the only thing to do is to 
shoot quick.” 

Nancy handed it over without a word, and, cross¬ 
ing to the railings, took up her position on the farther 
side of Colin. The latter put his other arm round her 
shoulder, and in this somewhat huddled formation 
the three of them started off at a slow pace along the 
front of the warehouse. 

It was a painful journey as far as Colin was con¬ 
cerned, for with every step he took the blood began 
to circulate more freely through his numbed limbs, 
causing him such intense agony that at times he could 
hardly suppress a groan. 

In order to take his mind off his sufferings he began 
to tell them his story, jerking it out in broken and 
disconnected phrases as they limped their way slowly 
forward through the darkness. He described how he 
had been stunned in the passage by a blow from a sand¬ 
bag, and how, on coming round, he had recognized 


192 


THE RED LODGE 


“Spike” Cooper and the man who had led the attack 
on Marsden in the King’s Road. He went on to give 
them an account of the way in which he had been thrust 
down into the cellar and left there to drown, and of 
how, after what seemed like hours of vain struggling, 
he had at last succeeded in getting on his feet, just 
before the water began to pour in through the opening. 

“I don’t know why I took the trouble,” he finished, 
‘“except that one doesn’t like to go under without a last 
Lick. I never dreamed that there was the faintest 
chance of my being rescued. When I heard you open¬ 
ing the trap I made certain that it was only Cooper and 
the others come back to watch me drown.” 

As he spoke they reached the entrance to Flood 
Lane, and with a grunt of relief Joe slipped the re¬ 
volver into his pocket. 

“Better not be seen carryin’ a gun ’ere,” he observed. 
“There might be a cop at the corner, and I reckon we 
want to get you back ’ome as soon as possible.” 

“You needn’t worry about me,” said Colin en¬ 
couragingly. “This little stroll has just saved my 
life.” 

He was, as a matter of fact, already beginning to 
walk more easily, and by the time they came out at 
the top of the lane into the main road he found him¬ 
self able to dispense with Nancy’s assistance. 

Even so, with two of the party drenched to the skin, 
they certainly presented an unusual spectacle. It takes 
something extremely out-of-the-way, however, to excite 
much comment in Shadwell High Street, and, except 
for one or two curious glances which were cast at them 


THE RED LODGE 


i 93 


as they passed under the street lamps, they managed 
to reach the surgery without attracting any particular 
attention. 

T expect I can find you a change, Joe,” said Colin, 
as Nancy pulled out her key. “Doctor Ashton has lots 
of old clothes kicking about, and I’m sure he won’t 
mind my pinching a suit for you.” 

Joe shook his head. “It’s very good of you, 
guv’nor, but I won’t come in, not if ye don’t mind. 
I gotter be at the Palace by eight o’clock, an’ I can 
get me duds dried there while the boxin’s on. They 
won’t be none the worse for a bit o’ washin’.” 

“Oh, but you must, Joe,” exclaimed Nancy, in some 
distress. “You can’t go about in those wet things. 
You’ll catch your death of cold.” 

Joe chuckled hoarsely, and patted the bottle in his 
side pocket. “Not me, miss,” he replied. “I ain’t 
the sort as ketches cold, not when I got ’alf a bottle o’ 
rum on me.” He turned to Colin. “You ain’t sittin’ 
dahn under this, doctor?” he added. “You let me 
know when ye feels up to it, and I’ll be round ’ere 
in a brace o’ shakes. We’ll smash the guts outer 
them two for this night’s work, or my name ain’t Joe 
Bates.” 

“I’ll fix up something of the sort if I can,” said 
Colin hopefully. “I’ve got a notion, however, that 
it’s rather a bigger business than it looks, so you 
mustn’t be disappointed if we have to bring the 
police in.” 

“Jest as you thinks best, guv’nor,” was the regret¬ 
ful answer. “I know yer wouldn’t spoil a bit o’ sport, 


i 9 4 THE RED LODGE 

not if you ’adn’t got some good reason for doin’ 
it.” 

He raised his hand in a parting salute, and, before 
either of them could say another word, turned swiftly 
round and slipped out through the iron gate. 

“I hope he’ll be all right,” said Nancy. “He’s 
terribly wet, poor man, and that wretched woman bit 
his thumb right down to the bone.” 

“That won’t worry Joe,” replied Colin reassuringly. 
“It takes a motor bus to knock him out.” 

He shivered slightly as he spoke, and with a hurried 
movement Nancy turned the key and pushed open 
the door. 

“Now, Colin,” she said, “you’re under my orders. 
The first thing you’ve got to do is to come 
straight up and have a hot bath. Then you must get 
into bed at once, and I’ll bring you something to 
eat.’-’ 

“Make it bread and milk,” said Colin pleadingly. 
“I’ve got such a confounded headache I couldn’t face 
anything more exciting than that.” 

Taking his arm, Nancy helped him up the staircase 
to his bedroom, where she lighted the fire and left him 
to undress. Then, after turning on the bath, and 
putting everything in readiness, she hastened down¬ 
stairs to the kitchen. 

Martha Jane, bursting with curiosity, greeted her 
in the doorway. 

“I seed you takin’ ’im upstairs, miss. However did 
’e come to fall in the river?” 

“He didn’t,” said Nancy. “He has been nearly 


THE RED LODGE 


i95 


murdered down in one of those old houses by the 
warehouse. They tied him up in a cellar where the 
water came in, and left him to drown.” 

Martha Jane threw up her hands. “Well, I never!” 
she exclaimed. “And ’im such a pleasant-spoken 
gentleman, too.” She paused to recover her breath. 
“Who do you reckon done it, miss? Some o’ them 
Bolsheviks?” 

“Joe knows who they are,” replied Nancy, “and 
I’ve no doubt the police will be able to get hold of 
them. Meanwhile, what we’ve got to do is to make 
Doctor Gray some nice hot bread and milk. He’s hav¬ 
ing a bath now, and I’ll take it up to him as soon as he’s 
in bed.” She glanced at the kitchen clock and a sud¬ 
den resolve came into her mind. “I think I’d better 
stay here myself, Martha,” she added. “I can easily 
sleep in Mrs. Ashton’s room, and then I shall be 
able to answer the telephone if there are any night 
calls.” 

“I shall be thankful to ’ave yer, miss,” was the 
relieved answer. “You never know what may 
’appen, and if the doctor was to die in ’is bed I 
should be that scared I shouldn’t know which way to 
turn.” 

“Oh, there’s no fear of that,” replied Nancy, smil¬ 
ing. “You go along and cut up some bread while I 
put the milk on.” 

A quarter of an hour later, carrying a daintily laid 
tray, she mounted the staircase and tapped at Colin’s 
door. 

“Come in,” he called out, and, entering the room, 


i 9 6 THE RED LODGE 

she found him sitting up in bed and smoking a 
cigarette. 

“Oh, I’m pretty well all right now, except for my 
head,” he replied cheerfully in answer to her inquiry. 
“Lucky for me it’s a good thick one, or I believe that 
chap would have fractured my skull.” 

“I’m not going to let you talk,” said Nancy severely. 
“You’ve got to eat this and go right off to sleep. I’ve 
arranged to stay here to-night so that you won’t have 
to bother about the ’phone.” 

“I promise I’ll be good,” said Colin obediently, 
“but there are two things I want to speak to you 
about, and they’ll neither of them take long.” 

Nancy glanced at her watch. “I will stop five 
minutes,” she said, “just while you finish your bread 
and milk.” 

She sat down on the edge of the bed and helped 
herself to a cigarette from the case which he held 
out to her. 

“In the first place, I’ve got to apologize for being 
an idiot,” he began. “If I’d had the sense to listen 
to your warning I shouldn’t have given you and Joe 
all this confounded trouble.” He dipped his spoon 
into the basin and looked at her thoughtfully. “Well,” 
he added, after a pause, “what do you think of our 
friend Major Fenton now?” 

“I think he ought to be shut up in an asylum,” said 
Nancy. “Any one who tries to commit a murder for 
such a ridiculous reason as me must be as mad as a 
hatter.” 

Colin shook his head. “Fenton isn’t mad,” he said 


THE RED LODGE 


197 

quietly. “He’s just an ordinary blackguard, and 
rather a clumsy one at that.” 

Nancy stared at him in bewilderment. “Then 
why-” she demanded. 

“I don’t know if you’ve ever read Boswell,” con¬ 
tinued Colin, “but Doctor Johnson says that it sharpens 
a man’s wits wonderfully if he’s just on the point of 
being hanged. You can take my word for it that the 
same thing’s true about being drowned. I did a lot 
of thinking while I was down in that cellar, and I’ve 
come to the conclusion that we’re up against something 
much bigger and more complicated than we’ve got any 
idea of.” 

Nancy sat motionless, her blue eyes fixed steadily 
on his. 

“I don’t quite understand,” she said slowly, “but I 
somehow feel that you’re right.” 

“I won’t try to explain now,” replied Colin. “My 
head’s aching too badly for one thing, and in any case 
I am going to turn the whole business over to Mars- 
den to-morrow, and I would rather wait until I hear 
what he’s got to say about it.” He paused. “Be¬ 
sides,” he added, “I have only another three minutes, 
and there’s something much more important I want 
to discuss.” 

“What’s that?” inquired Nancy. 

“Come a little closer,” said Colin. “It’s confi¬ 
dential.” 

Nancy moved forward obediently, and with a sudden 
movement Colin pushed aside the tray and took hold 
of her two hands. 



THE RED LODGE 


198 

“It’s just this,” he whispered. “I love you so much 
that I don’t know whether Fm sitting in bed or 
whether I’ve died and gone to heaven.” 

Nancy looked up into his face, a faint smile quiver¬ 
ing round the corners of her lips. 

“I think you must be in bed, Colin. They don’t 
wear pyjamas in heaven.” 

He leaned toward her. “Say you care for me, 
Nancy, even if it isn’t true.” 

She shook her head. “I told you I was no good at 
pretending. I have loved you shamelessly ever since 
that first day in the King’s Road.” 

With a deep, contented laugh Colin drew up her 
hands until they rested on his shoulders. “So have I,” 
he confessed, “but I only realized it while I was wait¬ 
ing to be drowned. I think I must be the biggest fool 
in England, but I’m certainly the happiest.” 

He kissed her lips with a passionate tenderness, and 
then, slipping his arms round her, held her close to 
him, his face resting against hers. 

For a moment or two they remained quite still, then 
very gently Nancy raised her head. 

“I don’t know much about concussion, Colin,” she 
said, “but I’m quite sure that this isn’t the right treat¬ 
ment for it.” 

“I haven’t got concussion,” returned Colin. “What 
I’m suffering from is an acute form of heart trouble.” 

Nancy stroked his cheek with her small, cool fingers. 

“My poor darling,” she whispered. “I will do 
everything I can for you to-morrow—I promise you 
that—but I must run away now and let you go to 


THE RED LODGE 


199 


sleep. I don’t want you to be seriously ill, Colin, 
especially when you’ve just found out that you love 
me.” 

“Perhaps you’re right,” admitted Colin reluctantly. 
“The worst of it is we shall have precious little time 
to ourselves until Mark comes home, and after that 
I shall have to dash up to Scotland Yard.” 

Nancy tucked in the bedclothes, and then, bending 
over, dropped a soft little kiss on his forehead. 

“Never mind,” she said happily. “There’ll be lots 
of days after to-morrow.” 

She walked to the doorway, and for a moment stood 
there, looking back at him with a world of love and 
tenderness in her eyes. Then very softly she stepped 
out into the passage and closed the door behind her. 


When Colin woke next morning it was with a vague 
feeling that something extraordinarily pleasant had 
happened to him. For several seconds he lay still, 
wondering what it could be; then, as the truth sud¬ 
denly occurred to him, he started up from the pillow 
and opened his eyes. Two agreeable discoveries 
awaited him. His headache had gone, and Nancy, 
fully dressed and holding a cup of tea in her hand, 
was standing beside the bed. 

“I was just going to take it away again,” she said, 
smiling. “You looked so beautifully comfy I hadn’t 
the heart to wake you.” 

Colin reached out an arm and imprisoned her left 
hand. 

“Tell me quick, Nancy,” he said. “It is true about 



200 


THE RED LODGE 


last night, isn’t it? I’m terribly afraid that perhaps 
I fell asleep and dreamed it all.” 

She shook her head. “No, Colin,” she said. “It’s 
quite true. You sat up in bed and made love to me in 
the most passionate manner. I don’t know whether 
you really meant it or whether it was because you had 
had a blow on the head.” 

Colin leaned forward, and, taking the cup out of 
her hand, deposited it carefully on the table beside him. 
Then he drew her gently down on to the bed, and, 
putting his arms around her, pressed his lips to 
hers. 

“I think you must be better,” said Nancy, as soon 
as she was at liberty to speak. 

“I’m not only better,” declared Colin. “I’m per¬ 
fectly well. I believe an occasional smack from a 
sandbag would do me all the good in the world.” 

Nancy parted his thick curly hair, and very care¬ 
fully examined the back of his head. 

“You’ve got a nasty lump there still,” she said. 
“Hadn’t you better stop in bed until Mark comes?” 

“Good Lord, no!” returned Colin. “I’m going to 
get up and do my job. There’ll be all last night’s 
patients to see as well as to-day’s, and I don’t want to 
land Mark with a double dose of work.” 

“Well, if you really mean it,” said Nancy. “I 
must go downstairs and get things ready. I haven’t 
even opened the letters yet.” 

“Just one more kiss first,” pleaded Colin. 

“Only one, then,” said Nancy firmly, “and that 
must be the last until this afternoon. If you don’t 


THE RED LODGE 


201 


treat me with proper respect while I’m your secretary 
I shall report you to the Medical Council.” 

For a man who during the last twenty-four hours 
had looked straight into the face of death, and had 
also discovered that he was deeply in love, it must 
be admitted that Colin got through the morning’s 
task with considerable credit. It was no light session 
either, for, in addition to his ordinary round of visits, 
he was faced, as he had predicted, by an exceptionally 
heavy list of callers, several of whom were still indig¬ 
nant over their fruitless vigil on the previous evening. 
An occasional glimpse of Nancy, however, as she 
gravely entered the surgery with some necessary ref¬ 
erence or address, was sufficient to refresh his energies, 
and by one-thirty his somewhat exhausting programme 
was practically complete. 

He was, indeed, in the very act of dismissing his 
last patient when a taxicab drove up to the door, and 
the sturdy, untidy figure of Mark bundled out on to 
the pavement. Nancy must have seen him, too, from 
the study window, for as the front door opened Colin 
heard her voice in the hall, and the next moment the 
pair of them entered the surgery. 

Mark thrust out his hand and wrung Colin’s 
heartily. 

“I needn’t ask how everything is,” remarked the 
latter. “You look too damn cheerful for anything 
but good news.” 

“That’s right,” returned Mark, tossing his hat on 
to a chair. “The operation went off like clockwork, 
and I left the old lady sitting up in bed having a cup 


202 


THE RED LODGE 


of tea with Mary. She’ll be as fit as a fiddle in another 
fortnight.” He stepped forward to the table and 
glanced casually down at the consulting book. “By 
Jove, you’ve had some patients,” he exclaimed. “I 
hope you haven’t been bored stiff.” 

Nancy’s lips twitched, and, as though moved by a 
similar impulse, Colin suddenly burst into a chuckle of 
laughter. 

“No,” he replied drily, “I can’t exactly say I’ve 
been bored.” 

Mark looked questioningly from one to the other 
of them. “What’s the joke?” he demanded. 

As he spoke Martha Jane appeared in the doorway. 
“Lunch is ready,” she announced, “if you’d like me 
to bring it up.” 

Colin slipped his arm through Mark’s. “You shall 
hear all about it when we’ve had something to eat,” 
he answered. “I’ve been healing the sick ever since 
half-past nine, and I’m beginning to faint for want of 
nourishment.” 

“I’ll go along to the cellar and get out a bottle of 
fizz,” suggested Mark. “I think you and Nancy are 
both entitled to a drink.” 

Once more Colin laughed appreciatively. “Yes,” 
he said, “under the circumstances I suppose we are.” 


“And now,” observed Mark, as he pushed his 
coffee cup away half an hour later, “I’d like to know 
what you two sunny-hearted infants were giggling at 
when I made that innocent remark in the surgery.” 


THE RED LODGE 


203; 

Colin glanced at Nancy. “Shall I tell him?” he 
asked, “or will you?” 

“Oh, you,” said Nancy decisively. “The police 
will want to know all about it, so it’s just as well you 
should have a rehearsal.” 

“The police!” exclaimed Mark. “Good heavens, 
I hope you haven’t been sending out prussic acid in 
mistake for magnesia?” 

“It’s worse than that,” said Colin cheerfully. 
“However, if you hang on tight to your chair and 
don’t interrupt I think you may be just able to bear 
it.” He paused. “Joking aside, Mark,” he added 
more seriously, “we seem to have struck something 
really ugly in the way of trouble, and I want your 
opinion and advice pretty badly.” 

At the sudden change in his voice Mark sobered 
down instantly. 

“Well, if you mean that, my son,” he said, “get 
on with it at once.” 

“It’s chiefly about Nancy’s guardian,” continued 
Colin. “You remember him, the chap who came to 
lunch?” 

Mark nodded. 

Going back to their first meeting in Jubilee Place, 
Colin began very carefully and deliberately to relate 
everything he knew about Major Fenton, of which 
Mark was still in ignorance. He described how the 
man had originally forced his society upon Nancy by 
pretending to have been acquainted with her father, 
and how, on discovering who Colin was, he had en¬ 
deavoured to prejudice her mind against him by in- 


204 


THE RED LODGE 


venting that absurd story about a scandal at St. 
Christopher’s Hospital. He went on, step by step, 
to trace the various developments that had followed 
—his own inquiries at Scotland Yard, Fenton’s abor¬ 
tive proposal to Nancy, his suggestive meeting with 
“Spike” Cooper outside the public house, and the im¬ 
provised engagement of Joe Bates in the role of an 
amateur detective. 

Having thus cleared the ground, he proceeded to 
give a curt account of what had taken place on the 
previous evening. He spoke very quietly and simply, 
but the details were dramatic enough in themselves 
without any word-painting, and it was easy to see the 
profound amazement with which Mark drank in his 
story. 

So thunderstruck, indeed, did the latter appear to 
be that nearly a minute must have elapsed after Colin 
had finished speaking before he attempted to offer his 
first comment. 

“Well, I’m blessed!” he exclaimed. “And they call 
this a civilized country!” 

“Oh, it’s civilized enough,” returned Colin care¬ 
lessly. “If I hadn’t been able to get some bread and 
milk and a hot bath when I came back I should prob¬ 
ably be down with double pneumonia.” He lighted 
another cigarette and leaned inquiringly across the 
table. “Those are the facts, anyhow, Mark. And 
now I’ll be much obliged if you’ll let me know what 
you make of ’em.” 

Mark took off his spectacles and polished them de¬ 
liberately with his handkerchief. 


THE RED LODGE 


205 


“There’s one thing that’s perfectly plain,” he said. 
“The sooner Fenton’s in Broadmoor the better for 
you and Nancy.” 

“You think he’s insane then?” 

Mark received the question with a stare of astonish¬ 
ment. “Insane!” he repeated. “Why, what the devil 
else can he be?” 

“You have seen him yourself,” persisted Colin. 
“Did you notice anything the least queer about 
him?” 

Mark paused. “No,” he said slowly. “Now you 
come to mention it, I’m hanged if I did.” 

“Nor I,” was Colin’s rejoinder. “I quite agree 
with you that he ought to be shut up, only I think it’s 
Dartmoor and not Broadmoor.” 

“But, hang it all,” broke in Mark, “a sane man 
doesn’t try to have a perfect stranger murdered just 
because he’s a little sore at being turned down by a 
girl.” 

“He doesn’t,” admitted Colin. “There must be 
some other reason that we know nothing about, and 
that’s why I’m going to turn the whole thing over to 
Marsden. If I thought that it was merely a personal 
matter between him and me I’d go round and knock 
the stuffing out of him myself.” 

Mark replaced his spectacles with an air of be¬ 
wilderment that was almost comic. 

“The more one thinks over it,” he said, “the more 
incomprehensible it seems. For one thing, why should 
he connect you with Nancy at all? You have only 
seen each other about three times.” 


206 


THE RED LODGE 


There was a pause. 

“Well as far as that goes,” replied Colin, “he may 
have a better reason than you imagine.” 

Mark glanced at Nancy, who had turned a delicate 
shade of pink. 

“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “You don’t 
mean-” 

“Yes, I do,” replied Colin; “we fixed it up last 
night over the bread and milk, and I’m so happy that 
I could get up and dance round the room.” 

He stretched out his arm, and taking Nancy’s hand 
across the table, bent over and kissed the tips of her 
fingers. 

“Well, if that isn’t the limit!” ejaculated Mark 
bitterly. “I leave my practice in your hands, trusting 
to your honesty, and when I come back I find you’ve 
pinched the one thing I value most—the only perfect 
secretary a doctor ever had.” 

Nancy turned toward him with a startled ex¬ 
pression. “Oh,” she cried remorse fully, “I never 
knew you’d look at it like that.” 

Mark got up from his chair, and stepping toward 
her with a twinkle in his eyes, laid his hand affection¬ 
ately on her shoulder. 

“My beloved child,” he said, “I was only joking. 
I shall just hate losing you, and so will Mary, but, 
thank God, we’re neither of us quite such selfish pigs 
as to grudge you the happiness you deserve.” 

He picked up the champagne bottle and tilted the 
few remaining drops into his empty glass. 

“Colin, my lad,” he said, “here’s my blessing and 



THE RED LODGE 


207 

my congratulations! Nancy’s a million times too good 
for you, but-” 

As he spoke the telephone bell rang sharply, and 
Colin, who was sitting nearest the door, jumped to 
his feet. 

“I’ll go,” he said. “You finish your speech, Mark. 
It would be a pity to break off just when you’re get¬ 
ting really truthful.” 

He hurried out into the hall and took down the 
receiver. 

“Is that 276 Shadwell?” 

“It is,” he answered. 

“Inspector Marsden of Scotland Yard speaking. 
Is Doctor Gray in?” 

“He’s not only in, but he’s talking to you,” re¬ 
turned Colin. 

“I thought it was your voice,” came the reply. 
“Look here, doctor, I’ve got back a bit earlier than 
I expected, and I want to see you as soon as possible. 
Can you come up to the Yard straight away?” 

“I can be there in half an hour,” said Colin. 

“That will do all right. Don’t be later if you can 
help it. I’ve been let in for an unexpected appoint¬ 
ment at four o’clock, and there are several things I’d 
like to talk to you about first.” 

“Well, if it comes to that,” remarked Colin, “there’s 
something I’m pretty anxious to discuss with you.” 
“Anything serious?” rapped out the other. 

“Only that somebody tried to murder me last 
night.” 

“Tried to murder you! Who was it?” 



208 


THE RED LODGE 


“Seems to have been a syndicate,” was the answer. 
“The principal parties were two gentlemen called 
‘Spike’ Cooper and Jake Hudson, both of this parish. 
The third one was the same cheery sportsman who 
kicked you in the tummy.” 

He heard a muttered exclamation at the other end 
of the telephone. 

“You had better not say any more now. Come 
along up immediately. If this is true it’s of the ut¬ 
most importance.” 

“Yes,” said Colin drily. “It struck me that way 
too.” 

He replaced the receiver, and, turning round, found 
Mark and Nancy standing in the doorway. 

“I have been summoned to Scotland Yard at once,” 
he informed them. “Marsden seems as anxious to 
see me as I am to see him.” 

“Perhaps he’s got hold of some clue about the 
murder?” suggested Mark. 

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Colin. “I know he 
went down into the country to look up the Professor’s 
old servant this morning, and he certainly spoke as 
though things were beginning to move.” He turned 
toward the pegs and started to unhook his hat and 
coat. 

“How are you going to get there?” inquired Mark. 

“Oh, I’ve brought the car along with me. It’s only 
round the corner at Higgins’s place.” 

“You’ll promise to be careful, won’t you?” said 
Nancy rather anxiously. “I hate to let you out of my 
sight until those three men have been arrested.” 


THE RED LODGE 


209 


“You needn’t worry about them,” returned 
Colin with a laugh. “They must have found out by 
now that they made a bloomer last night, and it’s 
a hundred to one that the whole lot have ske¬ 
daddled.” 

“Major Fenton won’t have run away,” persisted 
Nancy. “He has no idea that you saw him talking 
to Cooper, and there’s nothing else to connect him 
with the affair.” 

“No, that’s true,” admitted Colin. “He must be 
feeling as sick as the devil, and probably in a blue 
funk as well, but the only thing he can do is to sit 
tight and hope for the best.” 

“Anyhow, he’ll be lying fairly low for the moment,” 
agreed Mark. “You bung along off, my son, and get 
back as soon as possible. You’ll find Nancy and me 
here, unless we’ve burst with curiosity.” 

It was exactly on the stroke of a quarter past three 
when, with a sharp blast from his horn, Colin shot 
past the policeman on duty and pulled up neatly in the 
centre court of Scotland Yard. Before he could at¬ 
tempt to dismount two indignant constables were along¬ 
side of him. 

“Who are you?” demanded one. “Don’t you know 
it’s against the regulations to bring in a car without 
permission?” 

“Sorry,” said Colin penitently. “The fact is, I’ve 
got a very urgent appointment with Inspector Mars- 
den. He telephoned me to be here at a quarter past 
without fail.” 

“Well, you take my advice and be a bit more care- 


210 


THE RED LODGE 


ful the next time,” observed his interrogator, “or as 
likely as not you’ll find yourself in trouble.” He 
turned to his companion. “Better take him up at 
once. The Inspector’s in his room.” 

Climbing out of the car and following his guide, 
Colin ascended the flight of stone stairs until they 
reached the same apartment to which Marsden had 
conducted him before. Having inquired his name, the 
constable rapped loudly, and in answer to a peremp¬ 
tory invitation pushed open the door and stepped 
briskly forward. 

“Doctor Gray to see you by appointment, sir.” 

Marsden blotted the letter that he was writing and 
got up from his desk. 

“Come along in, doctor,” he called out; and then, 
as Colin entered, he pulled forward a chair and mo¬ 
tioned the constable to withdraw. 

“Take that seat,” he added, directly the door was 
shut. “There’s no time to waste, and I want to hear 
your story before we discuss anything else. Don’t 
hurry, though; tell it me in your own way, just as you 
did when you described the murder.” 

Colin laid his hat on the floor, and, thrusting his 
hands in his pockets, commenced to speak. 

In very much the same words that he had used to 
Mark he repeated the whole history of Fenton’s rela¬ 
tions with Nancy and himself, taking the utmost care 
to omit nothing which might have any conceivable 
bearing on the case. Then, still in the same method¬ 
ical and detached fashion, he went on to relate the 
remainder of his story, while all the time the Inspector 


THE RED LODGE 


211 


sat by in grim silence, his hard blue eyes fixed intently 
on his companion’s face. 

“I don’t know how it strikes you,” observed Colin, 
when he had quite finished, “but Nancy and I have 
been chewing it over pretty thoroughly, and we both 
think that it would take a damn sight more than a 
mere fit of jealousy to make Fenton risk his neck. 
We feel certain that there must be something much 
bigger at the back of it all, but beyond that we’re 
absolutely gravelled.” 

Without replying, Marsden leaned forward and 
pulled open a drawer in his desk. He turned over 
some of its contents, and then, taking out an un¬ 
mounted photograph, handed it to Colin. 

“Do you recognize that?” he asked. 

Colin sat up, with a sudden start of surprise. 

“Recognize it!” he exclaimed. “Of course I do. 
It’s ‘Spike’ Cooper.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Positive. You don’t suppose I’d forget his infer¬ 
nal face?” He inspected the picture carefully for 
several seconds, and then passed it back. “Where 
did you get hold of this?” he asked. 

“It was sent to me three days ago by the Canadian 
police. Perhaps you would like to hear the letter 
that came with it.” 

He dived into the drawer again, and produced an 
official-looking sheet of blue paper. 

“ ‘With reference to your inquiry of the 3d ult.,’ ” 
he read, “ ‘we now enclose the photograph, record, 
and finger prints of Luke Hammond, which were not 


212 


THE RED LODGE 


included in our reply of the 15th. We have since 
ascertained that Hammond has left Canada and is 
probably in London.’ ” 

“And what is his record?” demanded Colin. 

“Quite a useful one in its way,” was the dry 
answer. “Two terms of imprisonment for house¬ 
breaking and one of ten years for robbery with 
violence. Our friends at Montreal seem to regard 
him as one of the show cases in their collection.” 

“Fenton has been in Canada,” remarked Colin; “at 
least, so it said in that report you gave me. They 
probably met each other over there.” 

“Not a doubt of it,” returned the detective, “and, 
what’s more, I shouldn’t be much surprised if he came 
to England on Fenton’s invitation.” 

There was a pause. “We seem to be getting on,” 
remarked Colin, “but, all the same, I’m hanged if I 
can make head or tail of it even now. Why on earth 
should a cashiered major and a Canadian crook be 
thirsting for my blood?” 

Marsden replaced the paper and shut the drawer. 

“Doctor Gray,” he said, “have you any objection to 
leaving this entirely in my hands for the next twenty- 
four hours? I shall give instructions at once for the 
arrest of Cooper and Hudson, and you can take it 
from me that there are not likely to be any more 
attempts on your life. If it would make you more 
comfortable, I will arrange for you to be shadowed 
from the moment you leave this office.” 

“Good heavens, no!” exclaimed Colin. “It would 
make me feel as if I were a co-respondent in a divorce 


THE RED LODGE 


213 


case. I should like to have had five minutes alone 
with the blighter who hit me on the head, but if it can’t 
be managed I’m quite content to leave him to you.” 
He took his hands from his pockets and sat up in his 
chair. “And now,” he added, “what have you got 
to tell me? I’m dying to hear if you found out any¬ 
thing from this chap Kennedy.” 

Marsden glanced at his watch. “I have found out 
a good deal,” he said, “and it was because I was 
anxious to talk it over with you that I asked you to 
come round. As things have turned out, however, 
it seemed to me more important that I should hear 
your story first. I am afraid now that we must put 
off our discussion until to-morrow. I have an ap¬ 
pointment with the Commissioner in a few minutes, 
and it will probably be a couple of hours before I am 
free.” He paused. “I don’t mind telling you one 
thing, doctor, and that is that there are going to be 
some developments in this case that will probably give 
you the biggest surprise of your life.” 

Colin received the news with apparent calmness. 
“Really!” he observed. “Well, I ought to be able 
to stand them. I’ve had plenty of practice one way 
and another.” 

Marsden turned to a memorandum tablet that was ly¬ 
ing on his desk, and studied it for a moment in silence. 

“I want you all three to be here at two o’clock 
to-morrow punctually,” he said, “you and this man 
Bates and Miss Seymour.” He picked up a pencil. 
“By the way, has Miss Seymour any other Christian 
name besides Nancy?” 


214 


THE RED LODGE 


Colin shook his head. “Not that I know of.” 

“And her exact age?” 

“She will be nineteen on the third of February.” 
Marsden jotted down his reply, and then sat frowning 
thoughtfully at the pad. 

“I suppose there’s no more information you can 
give me in connection with her—no little fact ojr detail 
that you’ve forgotten to mention?” 

Colin reflected. “By Jove, yes!” he exclaimed sud¬ 
denly. “I’ve never told you that we’re going to be 
married.” 

Allowing for the Inspector’s naturally reserved 
manner, the effect of these few words was extraor¬ 
dinary. He pushed back his chair, stared for a mo¬ 
ment half incredulously, and then, slapping his knee, 
broke into a loud and prolonged chuckle of laughter. 

Before either of them could speak again there was 
a tap outside, and an apologetic constable presented 
himself in the doorway. 

“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, “but the Commissioner 
is ready to see you.” 

With an abrupt change of manner Marsden rose to 
his feet. 

“Thank you, Jackson,” he said. “I will be down 
immediately.” 

Then, as the door closed, he took a step forward, 
and with another hearty chuckle gripped hold of 
Colin’s hand. 

“I congratulate you with all my heart, doctor,” he 
said. “Unless I’m a damned fool, you’re the luckiest 
man in England.” 


CHAPTER TEN 


“More coffee?” suggested Mark. 

Colin pushed over his cup, and, having taken 
possession of the last slice of toast, proceeded to 
scrape out the remainder of the marmalade. 

“I seem to be eating rather a lot,” he observed 
apologetically. “I suppose it’s the result of being 
in love.” 

Mark laughed and glanced at the clock. “It seems 
to have affected Nancy in the same way. Anyhow, 
this is the first time I’ve ever known her late.” 

“You mustn’t be brutal to her,” said Colin; “it’s 
all my fault. I took her out to supper after the theatre 
last night, and we didn’t get back to her place until 
nearly one o’clock. I expect she was a bit sleepy this 
morning.” 

“Well, I’ll try and overlook it for once,” replied 
Mark generously. He produced his pipe, and, after 
stuffing the bowl with tobacco, tossed the pouch across 
the table. “What are your plans for this morning?” 
he inquired. 

“I’ve got to find Joe,” was the answer. “Marsden 
wants him at the Yard at two o’clock, so I must go 
along to the Palace and see if I can get hold of his 
address.” 

“You had better tell him to come here at half-past 

2IS 


216 


THE RED LODGE 


twelve,” said Mark. “He can have some lunch with 
us, and then you can all go up together in the car.” 

“That’s a bright idea,” agreed Colin. “I’m afraid 
that, in one way and another, I’m becoming a bit of 
a nuisance, though.” 

“Not the slightest,” returned Mark. “I’m enjoy¬ 
ing myself immensely. It’s so dull down here as a 
rule that any little thing like a love affair or an at¬ 
tempted murder is a perfect godsend.” 

He sauntered off to the surgery, and a few minutes 
later Colin, having scribbled a brief note to Nancy 
and left it on the hall table, was striding along the 
street in the direction of the Whitechapel Road. 

No one could describe the thoroughfares through 
which he had to pass as picturesque or engaging, but 
in the crisp morning air, and with a yellow sun shin¬ 
ing down from overhead, the two-mile walk was not 
without a certain attraction. 

He was in the kind of mood, indeed, in which even 
the Dead Sea or the Sahara Desert would probably 
have appeared to possess some favourable features. 
Ever since he had discovered his real feelings toward 
Nancy the whole world seemed to have become an 
extraordinarily interesting and exciting place. At the 
present moment, both these sensations were intensified 
by the prospect of his approaching interview with 
Marsden. From the way in which the detective had 
spoken there could be little doubt that he had made 
some important discoveries, and the mere thought that 
in a few hours he might be helping to track down the 
Professor’s murderer was sufficient in itself to set 


THE RED LODGE 


217 

every nerve in Colin’s body tingling with a fierce 
elation. 

Half-an-hour’s walk brought him to the Palace, a 
gaudy structure wedged in between two public houses. 
The only person about who appeared to have any con¬ 
nection with the establishment was an elderly man with 
a bucket of paste, who was leisurely engaged in affix¬ 
ing a poster to one of the two boards which decorated 
each side of the entrance. 

Colin pulled up alongside of him. 

“Do you happen to know where Joe Bates lives?” 
he asked. 

The other paused in his work, and eyed him with 
some suspicion. 

“Yus,” he replied, “an’ wot abaht it?” 

“Nothing much,” returned Colin. “I happen to 
be a pal of his, and I want to see him. My name’s 
Doctor Gray.” 

The elderly man’s expression changed instantly. 
“Ow,” he remarked, “that’s orl right. I’ve ’eard ’im 
speak o’ you. You’re the bloke as mended ’im up 
when ’e was in ’orspital? Thinks the world o’ you, 
Joe does, an’ no error.” 

“Well, in that case,” said Colin, “perhaps you will 
trust me with his address?” 

“Why, o’ course,” was the answer. “No offence, 
mister, but I didn’t know who you was when you come 
askin’ fust. Might ’a’ been one o’ these ’ere blarsted 
rate collectors.” He laid down his brush, and, step¬ 
ping out on the pavement, pointed across toward a 
narrow turning on the opposite side of the road. 


2 l8 


THE RED LODGE 


“You foller that,” he said, “an’ when you come to the 
last ’ouse on the right jest give a couple o’ taps on the 
front winder.” 

Colin thanked him, and, crossing the street, made 
his way down the alley in question, until he arrived 
at the farther end. Joe’s residence proved to be a 
single-fronted dwelling of grimy brick, the ground 
floor window of which opened on to the street. A 
square of not over-clean muslin had been nailed up 
inside, in order to secure the owner’s privacy, but at 
Colin’s second knock this obstruction was cautiously 
lifted, and Joe’s face peered out inquiringly through 
the dirty glass. 

On recognizing the visitor, it disappeared again at 
once, and the next moment a burly figure in trousers 
and shirt sleeves swung open the front door. 

“Couldn’t believe me own eyes, doctor,” announced 
the prize-fighter with a grin of welcome. “ ’Ow the 
blazes did you manage to find your way ’ere?” 

“I got your address from an elderly gentleman who 
was shoving up bills outside the Palace,” said Colin. 
“He wouldn’t part with it until I told him who I was.” 

“Ah, that’d be old Tom,” returned Joe, nodding 
his head. “ ’E ain’t the sort to let ’is mouth flap, not 
unless ’e’s sure of ’is comp’ny.” He stepped back 
into the passage, holding open the door. “Come 
along in, doctor. I ain’t got much of a place, but, 
such as it is, you’re more than welcome.” 

Colin followed his host into a tiny apartment on 
the left, on the walls of which were nailed up a number 
of coloured prints, representing various well-known 


THE RED LODGE 


219 


boxers in highly aggressive attitudes. In the centre 
of the room stood a deal table, containing a couple of 
bottles of Bass and the smaller half of a brown loaf. 
A bed, a dilapidated chair, and an old packing-case, 
full of odds and ends, completed the remainder of the 
furniture. 

“I was jest goin’ to ’ave me breakfast,” explained 
Joe, indicating the refreshments. “If you’d fancy a 
drop, guv’nor, I can borrow a glass from the bloke 
upstairs.” 

“Not for me, thanks,” said Colin. “I always go 
to sleep if I drink beer in the morning, and besides, I 
have only looked in to tell you that you’ll be wanted 
this afternoon.” 

Joe’s eyes glistened. “Goin’ to shove it across ’em?” 
he inquired eagerly. 

“I wish we were,” was Colin’s reply, “but I’m 
afraid it’s nothing as exciting as that. The fact is, 
I had a talk with Inspector Marsden yesterday, and 
he wants you and me and Miss Seymour to meet him 
at Scotland Yard at two o’clock.” 

For a moment Joe seemed somewhat taken aback. 

“If them’s the orders,” he said at last, “there ain’t 
no more to be said abaht it. I never thought to see 
meself walkin’ in there, though, not of me own accord.” 

“They’ll be civil enough,” said Colin. “They only 
want to hear your story about getting me out of the 
cellar.” 

“I daresay you’re right,” admitted Joe doubtfully. 
“I ain’t got nothin’ special against the perlice; all I 
says is that the less you ’as to do with ’em the better.” 


220 


THE RED LODGE 


He paused. “Wot’s the programme, guv’nor? Do 
I jest step up to the front door an’ ’and in me 
card?” 

“Doctor Ashton suggested that you should come 
round to the surgery. Then you can have some grub 
and drive up with us.” 

Joe shook his head. “Thankin’ yer kindly, but if 
it’s all the same I reckon I’ll meet yer there. I gotter 
couple o’ torfs cornin’ to the Palace for a lesson this 
mornin’, an’ it means a quid to me if I let ’em knock 
me abaht a bit.” 

“That’s all right,” said Colin, “as long as I can 
depend on you to keep the appointment.” 

“I’ll be there, doctor,” replied Joe. “I’ll be there, 
honest to Gawd. You bring the young laidy along in 
the car, and yer’ll find me sittin’ on the Embankment 
waitin’ for yer.” 

Satisfied with this assurance, Colin took his de¬ 
parture, and, retracing his steps to the end of the 
street, made his way back to Shadwell by the same 
route that he had come. 

As he opened the door of the house he saw to his 
surprise that the note which he had left for Nancy 
was still lying on the hall table. Before he had time 
to realize anything further Mark suddenly appeared 
from the surgery. 

“Hullo!” exclaimed Colin. “I made sure you’d 
be out on your round.” 

“So I ought to be,” replied Mark, “but, as a matter 
of fact, I was waiting for you.” 

“What’s the matter?” 


THE RED LODGE 


221 


“I’m rather worried about Nancy. She’s never 
turned up, and there’s been no message from her.” 

Colin’s whole figure stiffened abruptly. 

“No message?” he repeated. 

“Nothing. I can’t understand it at all. If she’s 
ill, surely she’d have let us know.” 

Without a word Colin swung round sharply, and, 
striding toward the pegs, unhooked his coat. 

“What are you going to do?” demanded Mark. 

“I’ll get out the car and drive up there at once,” he 
said. “Can you stop in for another twenty minutes? 
I’ll telephone you directly I find out what’s the 
matter.” 

Mark nodded. “Keep steady, old son. I expect 
it will be all right. There’s probably some quite 
simple explanation.” 

Colin moistened his lips. “We were mad ever to 
let her leave the house,” he said hoarsely. “If any 
harm’s come to her I’ll kill Fenton with my own 
hands.” 

As he spoke the clock on the stairs chimed out 
eleven-thirty, and, turning hastily to the door, he 
hurried out again into the street. 

If there is any truth in the theory that each of us 
possesses a guardian angel, the fact that a quarter of 
an hour later Colin drew up safely at the corner of 
Jubilee Place must be regarded as an amazing tribute 
to the efficiency of his own particular escort. 

Leaving the car in the gutter, he jumped out on to 
the pavement, and the next moment he was mounting 
the narrow staircase which led up to the first landing. 


222 


THE RED LODGE 


There were two studios on this floor, the one which 
Nancy rented being distinguished by a small brass 
knocker. Catching hold of the knob, Colin rapped 
loudly, and then, bending down, lifted up the flap 
of the letter box. 

“Nancy,” he called out, “are you there? It is I— 
Colin.” There was no answer. 

He straightened himself slowly, and as he did so 
the door of the second studio was pulled back and a 
girl appeared in the opening. She was a fair-haired, 
cheerful-looking girl, wearing a brown overall and 
smoking a cigarette. 

“Excuse my butting in,” she said, “but do you 
want to speak to Miss Seymour?” 

Colin took off his hat. “I do,” he said, “rather 
particularly.” 

“Well, I’m afraid it’s no good waiting,” was the 
answer. “She went out just after eight o’clock this 
morning, and I know she won’t be back till late, be¬ 
cause she asked me to take in a parcel for her.” 

“I suppose you don’t happen to know where she 
was going to?” asked Colin. “Please forgive my 
curiosity, but I am a friend of Doctor Ashton’s, for 
whom Miss Seymour works, and as she hasn’t turned 
up and has sent no message, we are both feeling rather 
anxious about her.” 

“She has gone to see her lawyer,” replied the girl. 
“He sent a car around to fetch her, that’s why she 
went off in such a hurry.” 

Colin stared at her in astonishment. “Her lawyer?” 
he repeated. 


THE RED LODGE 


223 


“That’s what she told me. I think from the way 
she spoke he wanted to see her suddenly about some 
important business. Anyhow, I know the chauffeur 
brought a letter with him, because she had it in her 
hand.” 

“Did you notice the man?” demanded Colin, 
“Would you be able to describe him again?” 

The girl raised her eyebrows. “I don’t suppose 
so,” she said coolly. “He was on the landing, but it 
doesn’t happen to be a habit of mine to stare at 
chauffeurs.” 

With a big effort Colin pulled himself together. 

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Perhaps I ought 
to explain. Miss Seymour and I are engaged to be 
married, so you will understand why I’m feeling 
worried about this sudden disappearance of hers.” 

The girl looked up at him sympathetically. “Why, 
of course,” she replied, “but surely there’s no reason 
to be alarmed? I expect she intended to ring up 
when she reached the lawyer’s office, and then some¬ 
thing came along and put it out of her head. She has 
probably done so by now.” 

“It won’t take me long to find out, anyhow,” said 
Colin. He paused. “Are you likely to be at home 
the rest of the day?” he asked. 

His companion nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I live 
here. I’m an artist.” 

“Then, just in case Miss Seymour does come home, 
would you mind asking her to let Doctor Ashton know 
immediately?” 

“Certainly I will,” said the girl. “Even if I don’t 


224 


THE RED LODGE 


hear her, she’s sure to look in in order to see about the 
parcel.” She hesitated. “I—I should like to con¬ 
gratulate you, if I may,” she added. “I don’t know 
Miss Seymour very well—I have only been in this 
studio a few weeks—but one’s merely got to speak to 
her to see that she’s a perfect dear.” 

In spite of his anxiety, Colin smiled at her grate¬ 
fully. 

“Thank you so much,” he said. “I’ll tell Nancy 
what a brick you’ve been.” 

He shook her hand and, leaving her standing in 
the doorway, hurried downstairs again into the 
street. 

There was a chemist’s shop at the corner which 
boasted a public telephone, and, entering the box, he 
rang up Mark. 

“No news here,” came the reply in answer to his 
first inquiry. “How about you?” 

In a few words Colin acquainted him with the story 
he had just been told, giving the bare facts exactly as 
he had heard them from the girl. 

“It seems a devilish queer business,” was Mark’s 
comment, after a short pause. “What are you going 
to do about it?” 

“I know the name of her lawyer at Helston,” said 
Colin. “It’s Penwarren. I shall send a telegram at 
once to find out whether he’s in London.” 

“And suppose he’s not?” 

“In that case there’s only one explanation. She’s 
in the hands of that brute Fenton, and-” 

“Look here,” broke in Mark, “shall I come up and 



THE RED LODGE 


225 

join you? I can easily put off my round until this 
evening.” 

“I would rather you stayed at the surgery for the 
present,” replied Colin. “A message might come 
through from Nancy any time, and I shall have to 
give Penwarren your address so that he can have 
somewhere to reply to. I’ll ring you up again about 
half-past one, before I see Marsden. We ought to 
have an answer by then.” 

“I’ll be here,” said Mark. “Don’t you worry more 
than you can help. Even if you’re right, Nancy can’t 
be in any real danger; the police will have her back 
in a few hours.” 

“Please God,” said Colin fervently. 

He replaced the receiver, and, leaving the shop, 
walked on quickly up the King’s Road until he reached 
the post office. Here, after destroying two previous 
attempts, he wrote out the following wire, which he 
signed in Mark’s name: 

“I shall be very grateful if you will let me know 
immediately whether Mr. Penwarren is in London 
and whether he has any business to discuss with 
Miss Nancy Seymour. Miss Seymour is in my em¬ 
ployment. The matter is extremely urgent.” 

He handed this to the girl behind the counter, and, 
having paid for a reply, made his way back to where 
he had left the car. 

He had done everything he could think of for the 
present, but the knowledge of this fact deepened 
rather than lessened his anxiety. The whole affair 


226 


THE RED LODGE 


was so extraordinary that he had an instinctive feeling 
that there must be something evil at the back of it. 
Was it likely or even possible that the summons which 
Nancy had received could really have come from Mr. 
Penwarren? Even if he were in town, for what con¬ 
ceivable reason could he have sent to fetch her at 
eight o’clock in the morning? And yet, knowing 
Nancy’s character, it seemed equally Incredible that 
she should have left the studio under such circum¬ 
stances, without being absolutely convinced that the 
message was a genuine one. 

If *she had fallen into a trap, there could be no 
doubt whose hand had set it. The affair in Flood 
Lane proved that, whatever motive lurked behind 
Fenton’s proceedings, he had now reached a point 
where nothing would be allowed to stand in his way. 
He was certainly quite capable of having abducted 
Nancy, though, in view of the hue and cry which he 
must have known would immediately follow, it was 
difficult to imagine how he could have hoped to avoid 
discovery. From all appearances it seemed to be either 
the work of a madman, or else the final stroke in some 
deliberate scheme, the apparent weaknesses of which 
had been carefully guarded against. 

It was the dread of this latter alternative which 
was clutching at Colin’s heart as he once more reached 
the corner of Jubilee Place. Should it prove to be 
the true explanation, every minute was obviously of 
the greatest value, and the prospect of remaining idle 
for the next two hours filled him with an almost in¬ 
tolerable revolt. 


THE RED LODGE 


227 


Unless he could get hold of Marsden personally, 
however, it seemed useless to communicate with the 
police until he had received a reply from Helston. 
They were not likely to take action on mere suspicion, 
especially when the Inspector himself had promised 
to be on the spot at two o’clock. As to whether there 
was any chance of his arriving earlier Colin had no 
idea, but, since the only other course was to do noth¬ 
ing, he decided that he might just as well drive up to 
Whitehall straight away. 

With this resolve he started the car, and, turning 
down through Burton Court on to the Embankment, 
swung round to the left in the direction of West¬ 
minster Bridge. A sharp run of about seven minutes 
brought him to the Yard gates, where, as usual, a 
couple of stalwart-looking constables were standing on 
duty. Colin recognized one of them as his acquaint¬ 
ance of the previous day, and with a friendly nod he 
pulled up alongside. 

“That’s all right, sir,” observed the man approv¬ 
ingly. “No objection to your coming in now we know 
who you are.” 

Colin leaned forward from the driving seat. 

“Do you happen to know whether Mr. Marsden is 
about anywhere?” he asked. “He made an appoint¬ 
ment with me for two o’clock, but something rather 
important has cropped up, and if possible I should like 
to see him at once.” 

“He hasn’t been in this way,” was the policeman’s 
answer, “but he might have come along by one of the 
other entrances. You can go inside and inquire, 


228 THE RED LODGE 

you like. The officer on duty will be able to find out 
for you.” 

Colin thanked him, and, steering his car through 
the gates, came to a halt in front of the broad flight 
of steps which led up to the main door. 

Another constable advanced inquiringly. 

“I don’t think so,” he replied, in answer to Colin’s 
question; “but if you like to wait a moment I can let 
you know for certain.” 

He disappeared within the building, returning after 
a short absence with a significant shake of his head. 

“No one’s heard anything of him yet, sir. They 
expect him at two o’clock, though.” 

“I know,” said Colin. “I’ve got an appointment 
with him.” He paused. “Can I leave the car here 
until then?” 

The constable scratched his head. “Well, this 
ain’t exactly a garage,” he replied doubtfully. “Still, 
if you back her up quite into that corner-” 

He turned aside as he spoke, and, pocketing the 
five shillings which Colin slipped into his hand, 
sauntered back to his former position. 


With the best part of an hour and a half before him 
Colin came out into Whitehall and paused irresolutely 
on the edge of the pavement. Of all the tasks with 
which an impatient man can be confronted, that of 
killing time is perhaps the most trying. He was not 
in the least hungry, and, in any case, there was some¬ 
thing ghastly in the thought of sitting all that while 



THE RED LODGE 


229 


in a half-empty restaurant, brooding miserably over 
what might have happened to Nancy. If he wished to 
keep his nerves steady, it seemed to him that some 
form of exercise was imperatively needed, and, with¬ 
out hesitating further he made his way across Parlia¬ 
ment Green, and struck off westward along the Em¬ 
bankment. 

The soundness of his instinct was proved by the 
fact that when he arrived back at Westminster Bridge, 
after a vigorous tramp of about six miles, he felt that, 
whatever the next few hours might bring, his mind 
and judgment were once more under proper control. 
The hands of Big Ben were already at five and twenty 
minutes to two, and, knowing that there was a public 
telephone in the station, he crossed the road and en¬ 
tered the box. After a brief delay he succeeded in 
getting Mark’s number. 

“That you, Colin?” came the latter’s voice. “Yes, 
I’ve just got an answer to the wire. It arrived a few 
minutes ago. If you hold on I’ll read it out to you.” 
There was a pause. “ ‘Mr. Penwarren is ill in bed 
at Helston. As far as we are aware he has had no 
communication with Miss Seymour for the last eight¬ 
een months. Should be glad of an explanation.’ ” 

“It’s only what I expected,” said Colin quietly. 
“There must be something wrong, or Nancy would 
have let us know long before this.” 

“Have you told the police?” 

“Not yet. I went up to the Yard, but Marsden 
hadn’t arrived, so I thought I’d better wait until we 
got the reply from Helston.” 


230 


THE RED LODGE 


“Where are you telephoning from?” 

“Westminster Bridge Station. IVe arranged to 
meet Joe close by here, and, unless anything’s hap¬ 
pened, he ought to be along in a few minutes. By that 
time Marsden will probably have turned up.” 

There was a pause. 

“Well, I’m ready when you want me,” observed 
Mark. “In case there’s going to be trouble, you can 
count me in to the limit.” 

“I know that,” returned Colin gratefully. “If 
there’s any possible way in which you can be of help 
I’ll ring you up and let you know.” 

He put down the receiver, and, leaving the station, 
walked slowly round the corner on to the Embank¬ 
ment. A few yards past the entrance to the Yard, 
on the opposite side of the road, were a couple of 
empty seats facing the river. He crossed over 
toward the first one, and, having lighted himself a 
cigarette, sat down patiently to wait for Joe. 

Just as the opening strokes of a quarter to two 
were chiming out from the clock tower, the latter 
made his appearance. In a quiet and unobtrusive 
fashion he slipped suddenly into view round the 
pedestal of Boadicea’s statue, and at the same moment 
a grin of recognition broke over his face as his eyes 
lit upon Colin. He quickened his steps, and came 
rapidly up to the seat. 

“Thought you might be early, doctor,” he began, 
“so I come along a bit ahead o’ me time on purpose.” 
He looked round inquiringly. “But where’s the young 
laidy?” 


THE RED LODGE 


231 


Colin, who had thrown away his cigarette, rose to 
his feet. “I’ve got some bad news for you, Joe,” he 
said. “Miss Seymour has disappeared.” 

Joe’s mouth opened, and he gazed blankly at his 
companion. 

“Disappeared!” he repeated. 

“She was taken away in a car at eight o’clock this 
morning. Some one tricked her into leaving the studio 
by means of a false message.” 

With a muttered oath Joe clutched him by the arm. 

“Wot, the saime swine that tried to do you in?” 

Colin nodded. “Unless I’m wrong, it’s the man I 
spoke to you about—Major Fenton; the one who was 
talking to ‘Spike’ Cooper outside the station.” 

“Well, if yer knows that,” exclaimed Joe, “wot the 
’ell are we messin’ abaht ’ere for? Why don’t we go 
an’ wring ’is blarsted neck?” 

“Because we’ve got to find him first,” returned Colin 
curtly. “That’s why I’ve been waiting to keep this 
appointment with the Inspector. The police are after 
him too, so they may be able to help us.” 

Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“For Gawd’s sake let’s get over and see ’em, 
guv’nor. I wouldn’t ’ave no ’arm come to that 
young laidy, not for all the money in the Bank of 
England.” 

Colin gave a queer laugh. “I think I can under¬ 
stand the feeling,” he said. 

They crossed the road toward the Yard, where the 
same two constables were still on duty. 

“You’re all right now, mister,” remarked one of 


232 THE RED LODGE 

them. “I saw him come in by the other way a few 
minutes ago.” 

With a nod of thanks Colin passed through the 
gates, and, followed by Joe, who kept casting mis¬ 
trustful glances to right and left, walked rapidly up 
to the main entrance. 

The recipient of his five-shilling tip stepped forward 
to meet him. 

“Mr. Marsden has just come, sir,” he announced. 
“Told me that when you and your party arrived 1 
was to bring you in straight away.” 

“Well, this is my party,” said Colin. “At least, 
all of it that’s likely to turn up.” 

He beckoned to Joe, who had halted a couple of 
paces in the rear, and, mounting the steps, the two of 
them followed the constable into the building. He 
led the way up the staircase to Marsden’s room, where, 
in response to his knock, the Inspector himself opened 
the door. Over his shoulder Colin caught sight of 
another man in plain clothes, who was standing with 
his back to the fire. 

“Come along in, doctor,” exclaimed the detective. 
“I’ve got some one here you ought to know—Inspec¬ 
tor Ainsworth, of the Investigation Department. He 
has been doing some rather useful work for you dur¬ 
ing the last twenty-four hours.” 

Colin shook hands with his new acquaintance, a 
stout, gray-haired individual, who eyed him with con¬ 
siderable interest. 

“And this is our friend Bates, eh?” continued Mars¬ 
den, turning a sharp glance on Joe. “But where’s 


THE RED LODGE 


233 

Miss Seymour? I thought you were going to bring 
her with you.” 

“You had better hear what I’ve got to tell you 
straight away,” said Colin. “Miss Seymour never 
came to Shadwell this morning. I went up to her 
flat just before midday, and I found out from the 
girl next door that someone had called for her in a 
car at eight o’clock with a letter from her lawyer in 
Cornwall.” 

“What, Penwarren?” broke out Marsden. “Im¬ 
possible! Why, he’s seriously ill down at Helston.” 

“I know,” said Colin. “I sent him a wire at once 
and I’ve just got the answer. The letter was a 
forgery. 

“And Miss Seymour?” demanded Marsden quickly. 

“She went away in the car and nothing has been 
"heard of her since.” 

Marsden took a couple of paces across the room, 
and then turned to his colleague. 

“I blame myself for this, Ainsworth,” he said. “I 
ought to have had the place watched.” 

“That’s so,” assented the other. “All the same, I 
don’t think there’s any harm done. It’s plain enough 
what they’re after, but if they want to bring it off 
they’ll have to take her abroad. You can’t work that 
sort of gadget in England.” 

There was a short pause, which was broken by 
Marsden. “You had better get hold of Graham im¬ 
mediately. Tell him that the girl’s been kidnapped, 
and that an attempt will probably be made to smuggle 
her out of the country. They’re already on the look- 


THE RED LODGE 


234 

out for Cooper, so it will only be a matter of sending 
another message.” 

Giving a curt nod, Ainsworth strode to the door, 
and, with an abrupt change in his manner, Marsden 
addressed himself to Colin. 

“I am sorry this has happened,” he said, “espe¬ 
cially as it’s partly my fault. I wish to God you 
could have let me know sooner.” 

“I came along immediately,” retorted Colin, “but 
you weren’t here.” 

For a moment Marsden hesitated. “Have you 
any idea who Miss Seymour really is?” he asked 
slowly. 

Colin stared at him. “What do you mean?” he 
demanded. 

“She is the granddaughter of Professor Carter, and 
the heiress to over a quarter of a million of money.” 

If the Professor himself had suddenly appeared 
through the doorway Colin’s amazement could hardly 
have been more complete. 

“Good God!” he stammered. “Is this true? Are 
you certain of it?” 

“I am quite certain of it—now,” was the answer. 
“I have suspected it was so for the last two days, 
but what I have found out this morning puts the 
matter beyond question.” He took hold of a chair 
and thrust it toward Colin. “Sit down for a mo¬ 
ment, doctor. I know how impatient and anxious you 
must be feeling, but I can assure you that I sha’n’t 
waste a second. Before we go any further it’s es¬ 
sential that you should hear the truth.” 


THE RED LODGE 235 

“Get on with it, then,” said Colin hoarsely. “I 
don’t want a chair. I’d rather stand.” 

Marsden walked across to his desk and seated him¬ 
self in front of an open cardboard file, containing a 
number of papers. 

“Do you remember what I told you the morning 
after the murder?” he asked. “That if we could find 
the Professor’s old servant, Kennedy, we should prob¬ 
ably learn something which would alter our whole 
view of the case?” 

Colin nodded. 

“Well, a couple of days ago I got a message from 
the Hertford police that they had run him to earth in 
a small village near Hoddesdon. He has been para¬ 
lyzed and bedridden for some months, and as the old 
woman who has been looking after him can’t even 
read or write, he might easily have died without ever 
hearing of the murder. As it was, we got hold of him 
just in time. I went down there yesterday, and, al¬ 
though he was so ill that he could hardly speak, he 
managed to give me the one bit of information that I 
was so badly in need of. He told me that twenty- 
three years ago Nancy Carter, the Professor’s only 
daughter, then a girl of eighteen, had run away from 
her home and married a young artist called Richmond 
Seymour.” 

Colin took a step forward, but before he could 
speak the detective raised his hand. 

“Let me finish first, and then I’ll answer any ques¬ 
tions you like. It seems from Kennedy’s story that 
the Professor was one of those self-willed, obstinate 


THE RED LODGE 


236 

sort of people who simply don’t know the meaning of 
the word ‘forgiveness.’ He had forbidden this mar¬ 
riage, and, since his daughter had chosen to disobey 
him, he made up his mind that he would have nothing 
more to do with her. Kennedy tells me that from that 
time forward he never even mentioned her name again. 

“Well, to cut a long story short, as soon as I heard 
this the two names ‘Nancy Seymour’ came back to 
my mind at once. I’d written them down in my note¬ 
book that day in the King’s Road, and somehow or 
other they’d stuck in my memory ever since. I knew 
nothing about the young lady except the fact that 
she’d helped to save me from having my face kicked 
in, but I guessed it was likely that you two had kept 
in touch with each other, and so directly I got back 
to town I ’phoned you to come up.” He paused. “I 
thought you’d probably be able to give me some infor¬ 
mation, doctor, and, by God, you did.” 

Colin came across to the desk, and, leaning over 
the back, stared eagerly in the detective’s face. 

“Go on, man,” he exclaimed: “for heaven’s sake 
tell me what you mean!” 

“I mean this,” returned Marsden. “You not only 
convinced me that Miss Seymour is the Professor’s 
granddaughter, but you opened my eyes to one of the 
most remarkable and cleverly laid crimes that it’s ever 
been my job to tackle.” 

“Who did it?” demanded Colin. “Who killed the 
Professor?” 

“I am not referring to the murder. I don’t believe 
that had anything to do with the original scheme. It 


THE RED LODGE 


237 


was an accident—a very awkward accident, and quite 
unforeseen. In all probability no one regretted it 
more bitterly than the two men who were chiefly re¬ 
sponsible for it—Major Fenton and Mr. Medwin.” 

“Mr. Medwin!” repeated Colin in a whisper. 

“Yes,” was the answer. “I’ll stake my official rep¬ 
utation that the whole of this interesting plan origi¬ 
nated in the brain of Mr. James Stanhope Medwin, 
solicitor, commissioner for oaths, and I should think 
about the most complete rascal that ever cheated a 
client.” 

Colin drew in a long breath. “I was right then. 
I felt that he was up to some devil’s work the first 
time I saw him.” He leaned forward again, his eyes 
alight with anger. “How did you find all this out?” 

“Well, one thing was quite plain; whoever broke 
into the Red Lodge the first time was after some 
particular object which the Professor kept in his desk. 
According to his own statement to you, he had nothing 
there except his private papers, and, unless my infor¬ 
mation was wrong, the only person who was likely to 
have known this was Medwin. I always make it a 
rule in business to suspect everyone, no matter who 
they are, and so, in spite of our friend’s plausible 
manner and professional standing, I put him on the 
list straight away. 

“It was the merest guesswork at first, but when I 
discovered that the Professor had left a large fortune 
and had made no will, I began to wonder whether 
this rather important fact had any connection with 
the attempt to search his papers. Supposing that 


THE RED LODGE 


238 

Medwin had had reasons for believing in the existence 
of a legal heir, but at the same time had been unable 
to get hold of any definite information on the subject. 
It was quite conceivable—allowing him to be a bad 
lot—that he might have arranged the burglary with 
a little professional assistance, and, for all we knew, 
rqight even have succeeded in finding out what he 
wanted. 

“The weak point in this theory was the fact that 
up till then the man had apparently had an unblem¬ 
ished record. However, I set Ainsworth to work, 
and he very soon dug up a few facts which put quite 
a different complexion on the matter. He found out 
that some time ago our respectable friend, who has 
always had a taste for speculation, suddenly became 
bitten with the Turf. For the past two years he has 
been betting heavily with several of the leading book¬ 
makers, and one of them—we know these gentry 
pretty well at the Yard—confided to us that his own 
profit in the transaction already amounted to a good 
many thousand pounds. 

“Having got so far, I came more or less to a stand¬ 
still. I felt convinced in my own mind that, even if 
Medwin knew nothing about the murder, he was cer¬ 
tainly up to some hanky-panky with regard to the 
money, but it’s one thing to believe a man guilty and 
quite another to prove it. 

“It was my interview with Kennedy, and your story 
coming on top of that, which suddenly did the business. 
I realized at once, then, that if Miss Seymour was 
really the Professor’s granddaughter, Medwin and 


THE RED LODGE 


239 


Fenton and this fellow Cooper were probably all in 
the same game. No doubt Cooper had been roped 
in to help with the burglary, and, although I had 
no actual evidence that Fenton and Medwin were 
friends-” 

“I could have told you that,” interrupted Colin. “I 
saw a photograph of Fenton on his mantelpiece the 
day he took me to his house.” 

“Did you?” returned Marsden. “Well, it’s a pity 
you never thought of mentioning the fact; it might 
have put me on the right track straight away. As it 
is, we’ve had a fairly strenuous thirty-six hours. Our 
people have been ransacking Cornwall and London to 
verify the truth of Kennedy’s story, and by one o’clock 
to-day we pretty well completed our case.” He laid 
his hand on the pile. “I have here all the evidence of 
Mrs. Seymour’s marriage and death, and the birth 
certificate of her daughter. There is no doubt that 
Miss Seymour was her only child, and she is therefore 
the sole heiress to the Professor’s money.” 

“I’ve just a couple of questions I want to ask you,” 
said Colin abruptly. “In the first place, what did 
these two devils mean to do with Nancy?” 

“Marry her to Fenton before she found out the 
truth. Unfortunately for them, the young lady didn’t 
prove such an easy catch as they expected. I fancy 
you got most of the credit for that, hence the happy 
notion of putting you out of the way.” 

Colin nodded grimly. “And what exactly is your 
theory about the murder?” 

“I haven’t the least doubt that it was the work of 



240 


THE RED LODGE 


‘Spike’ Cooper. In all probability the other two knew 
nothing about it. I expect that when he broke into 
the house the first time—most likely in company with 
Medwin—he took the opportunity of having a look at 
the safe. It struck him as being a soft job, and so, 
without saying a word to the others, he made up his 
mind to come back again later on and see if there was 
anything worth collecting. Through some cursed ac¬ 
cident the Professor happened to blunder across him, 
and-” 

“But if you know all this,” broke out Colin pas¬ 
sionately, “why in God’s name haven’t you arrested 
them?” 

The Inspector looked up at him with unruffled cool¬ 
ness. “We have done everything that’s possible,” he 
replied. “I can’t bring a charge against Medwin 
without some actual proof, and we’re not likely to find 
that until we get hold of Cooper and Fenton. I’ve a 
warrant out for each of them, and it’s only a matter 
of a few hours before they’ll both be in custody.” 

“And meanwhile-” exclaimed Colin. 

“Yes, I know,” interrupted the Inspector quickly; 
“they have managed to trap the girl. There’s no 
question about that, but you can take it from me that 
she’s not in any great danger. Every port in England 
is being closely watched, and unless they can get 
her over to the Continent, and force her into a mar¬ 
riage-” 

“Do you think I’m content to sit down here and 
trust to a lot of damned country policemen?” shouted 
Colin hotly. He wheeled round as he spoke, at the 





THE RED LODGE 


241 


same time beckoning to Joe, who, throughout the whole 
interview, had remained standing discreetly in the 
background. 

The Inspector jumped up from his chair. “What 
are you going to do?” he demanded. 

“Do!” repeated Colin. “I’m going to find Medwin. 
He’ll know where Nancy is, and I’ll get the truth out 
of him if I have to cut him in pieces.” 

He turned toward the door. 

“Stop!” said Marsden sharply. He stepped for¬ 
ward, his hard blue eyes fixed upon the flushed and 
angry face of his companion. 

“You mean this seriously, doctor?” 

“O’ course ’e does,” chimed in Joe; “an’ the saime 
’ere, mister.” 

“I mean to find out what they’re doing with Nancy,” 
repeated Colin. “If Medwin won’t speak, I’ll damned 
well make him.” 

For a moment Marsden stood motionless, glancing 
thoughtfully from one to the other of them. 

“I’m hanged if I haven’t a good mind to let you try 
it,” he said, suddenly. “It’s just one of those mad 
things that might come off—provided it’s properly 
handled.” 

“We’ll handle it all right,” said Colin. “You can 
trust me for that.” 

“I hope I can,” retorted Marsden. “I tell you 
frankly that if it weren’t for Miss Seymour I should 
lock you both up straight away. I feel, however, that 
it’s nly carelessness that’s got her into this mess, and if 
you can possibly force the truth out of Medwin it may 


242 


THE RED LODGE 


save her a lot of unpleasantness.” He paused. “How 
do you propose to set about it?” 

“I shall go down to his house,” said Colin, “and 
tax him with the whole story.” 

Marsden hesitated. “It will mean showing our 
cards with a vengeance,” he said, “but as things are 
I don’t know that it really matters. He’d be bound 
to take alarm directly he heard of the arrest of Fenton 
and Cooper, and however much you frighten him he 
hasn’t a dog’s chance of getting away.” He took an¬ 
other step forward, and contemplated Colin from 
under his bushy eyebrows. “You quite understand 
the position, my young friend. Supposing anything 
goes wrong, it will be no use expecting me to help you. 
From the moment you leave this office you will be act¬ 
ing entirely on your own responsibility.” 

“Of course we shall,” said Colin coolly. “The first 
thing you’ll know about it is when we ring up and tell 
you the result.” 

With a faint twitch of his lips the detective held out 
his hand. 

“Good luck to you, doctor,” he said. “That young 
lady deserves a man, and I’ll take my oath she’s got 
one.” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


Albert Terrace appeared even more peaceful and 
respectable than usual as Colin turned in at the 
farther end and came to a standstill in front of Mr. 
Medwin’s house. 

“This is the place, Joe,” he said quietly. “Now 
you’re quite clear in your own mind about what we’ve 
arranged?*' 

Joe nodded. “I got it, guv’nor. You ask whether 
’e’s at ’ome, an’ if ’e is, in we goes. Then it’ll be my 
job to shove it across the butler.” 

“That’s right,” said Colin. “I’m trusting you to 
look after the two servants until I’ve finished with 
Medwin.” 

“I’ll look after ’em,” grunted Joe. “There won’t 
be no trouble in that quarter, you taike my word for 
it.” 

They got out of the car, and, leading the way up 
the path, Colin pressed the electric bell. 

After a brief delay they heard the sound of steps 
inside, and the next moment Medwin himself opened 
the door. For an instant he stood gazing dumbly at 
his two visitors, then with a sudden expansive smile 
he stepped forward and held out his hand. 

“Why, bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “This is a 

243 


244 


THE RED LODGE 


very pleasant surprise. What an extraordinary bit 
of luck that I happened to be at home.” 

“Isn’t it!” said Colin genially. “I was just say¬ 
ing to Joe that it was a hundred to one that we 
shouldn’t find you.” He paused. “Oh, by the way, 
may I introduce you? This is an old friend of mine, 
Mr. Joe Bates. I’ve brought him along because we 
both want to ask your advice.” 

With a deferential gesture, Joe raised his finger 
to his forehead. 

“ ’Ow d’ye do, sir,” he remarked. “Pleased to meet 
yer.” 

“I hope we haven’t called at a very inconvenient 
time,” continued Colin. “The matter is rather an 
urgent one, and I felt that I should like to have your 
opinion on it.” 

“You needn’t apologize, my dear boy,” returned 
Mr. Medwin graciously. “If I can be of any assist¬ 
ance to you I shall be only too pleased.” He moved 
back, making room for them to enter. “I have to be 
my own butler to-day, because both my man and his 
wife are out for the afternoon. I send them to a 
matinee every now and then, just to keep them in a 
good temper.” 

Colin and Joe stepped into the hall, the latter, who 
was the last to enter, closing the door carefully behind 
him. 

“I think the study will be the best place for us,” 
continued their host. “Perhaps you’d like a whisky 
and soda or a glass of port first, though?” 

Colin declined politely, and, still radiating good 


THE RED LODGE 


245 


nature, Mr. Medwin ushered them into a small room 
on the left, where a bright fire was burning in the 
grate. 

“I use this as a kind of annex to my office,” he 
added. “A large number of my clients are Kensing¬ 
ton people, and so sometimes it’s very convenient to 
be able to see them here.” 

“It’s very convenient for us,” said Colin. “As a 
matter of fact, we were particularly anxious to find 
you alone.” 

The other, who was in the act of pulling forward a 
chair, glanced up,sharply at the change in his visitor’s 
voice. 

Colin took a step forward. 

“I’ve got several things to say to you, Medwin, but 
before I start, just get this fact plainly into your 
head. If you attempt to call out or to make the 
least noise, I’ll smash your face to a jelly.” 

There was a moment of dead silence, then very 
slowly Medwin stepped back to the fireplace and 
moistened his lips. 

“Have you gone mad?” he demanded. 

“Sit down,” said Colin curtly. 

He pointed to the chair, and with a face from 
which every vestige of colour had suddenly departed, 
the lawyer silently obeyed his instructions. Joe 
moved softly toward him across the room, a formid¬ 
able and menacing figure in the gray afternoon light. 

It was Colin who was the first to speak. 

“What have you and Fenton done with Miss Sey¬ 
mour?” 


THE RED LODGE 


246 

Medwin, who by an amazing effort seemed to have 
recovered some of his self-possession, looked up with 
an expression of blank amazement. 

“I have never heard of Miss Seymour,” he an¬ 
swered. “In fact, I haven’t the remotest notion what 
you’re talking about.” 

Colin came a step nearer. “Haven’t you?” he 
said. “Then perhaps I’d better explain.” 

He thrust his hand under Medwin’s chin, and, 
jerking up his face, stared down into his eyes. 

“Now, you damned liar,” he said, “listen to me. 
You know as well as I do who Miss Seymour is. You 
have known it ever since you broke into the Red Lodge 
and opened the Professor’s desk.” 

He released his hold and, gripping Medwin by the 
collar, shook him backward and forward as a dog 
shakes a rat. 

“My God, I’d kill you where you sit if I didn’t 
want an answer to my question. You’ve not only 
tried to rob and ruin this girl, but if it wasn’t 
for you and Fenton the Professor would be still 
alive.” 

He flung back the half-throttled man with such 
force that the woodwork of the chair cracked and 
splintered beneath his weight. 

Joe, who had been looking on with silent approval 
hauled the victim unceremoniously to his feet. 

“Nah, cocky,” he said, “where’s the young laidy? 
Spit it aht quick.” 

Choking and gasping for breath, Medwin retreated 
toward the sofa. 


THE RED LODGE 


247 

“You’re making some terrible mistake. I know 
nothing about it, on my honour.” 

“Your what?” Colin laughed unpleasantly. “I 
don’t know if you’re really under the impression that 
you can bluff this out, Medwin, but if you are, you’re 
making the mistake of your life.” 

He put his hand in his pocket, and, pulling out a 
coil of whipcord, which he had stopped to purchase 
on his way down, tossed it across to Joe. 

“Lay him on the sofa,” he said, “and tie up his 
feet and hands. If he makes the slightest sound, give 
him a punch in the mouth.” 

Joe moved forward with alacrity, and, turning to 
the fireplace, Colin picked up a small ornamental 
poker which was standing against the hearth, and 
thrust it deliberately into the hottest part of the fire. 
Then, lighting himself a cigarette, he stood looking 
on in silence, while with swift efficiency Joe proceeded 
to carry out his instructions. 

“That will do,” he observed at last, “Now, Med¬ 
win, you can take your choice. You will either tell me 
at once where Miss Seymour is, or else I shall burn 
the truth out of you with that poker.” 

Trussed and helpless, Medwin gazed across at him 
from the sofa. 

“For God’s sake think what you’re doing,” he 
whispered. “Can’t you see that the whole thing’s a 
ghastly blunder? I swear to you on my oath that I 
have never even heard of either of the people you have 
mentioned.” 

“In that case,” said Colin, “it’s rather curious that 


248 THE RED LODGE 

you keep a photograph of Fenton on your dining room 
mantelpiece.” 

He stooped down, and, drawing out the poker which 
was now a glowing red, advanced relentlessly toward 
the sofa. 

Two little beads of perspiration broke out on Med- 
win’s forehead and trickled down into his eyes. 

“Stop!” he gasped. “Stop! You young devil, I 
believe you mean it.” 

Colin laughed again. “Shove something in his 
mouth, Joe. We don’t want the whole street to hear 
him squealing.” 

By a violent effort Medwin managed to wriggle 
himself up into a sitting position. 

“It’s all right, Gray,” he said quietly. “You needn’t 
go any further. I know when I’m beaten.” 

He sank back against the cushions, and with a queer 
half-incredulous expression, stared up into Colin’s face. 

“I am not often mistaken in my judgment of people,” 
he said, “but I seem to have blundered pretty badly 
with regard to you.” 

“Answer my questions,” said Colin. “Where’s Miss 
Seymour?” ( 

“She’s at Fenton’s cottage in Essex, close to South 
Ockendon. It’s a small white house called ‘The Firs,’ 
on the right hand of the road, just before you reach 
the village.” 

Colin walked to the desk and wrote down his direc¬ 
tions on a blank sheet of paper. 

“Why have you taken her there?” 

“It was Fenton’s idea,” said Medwin slowly. “He 


THE RED LODGE 


249 


has a boat lying in the Thames close by, and he thought 
that if he could persuade her to go for a short cruise 
she might change her opinion about the impossibility 
of marrying him.” 

With his fists clenched Joe started forward, but be¬ 
fore he could strike Colin thrust him back. 

“Leave him alone, Joe,” he said harshly. “It’s 
the truth we want, no matter what it is.” He turned 
to Medwin, who was watching them with surprising 
coolness. “Do you know what his plans are exactly?” 

“He means to take her on board as soon as it’s 
dark. Where he will go then depends chiefly on the 
weather. I believe he has some idea of trying to 
reach Holland.” 

“What, by himself, in mid-winter?” 

“Oh, he’s not alone,” returned Medwin. “He has 
two old acquaintances of yours with him—Cooper and 
Hudson. In the course of their varied lives they have 
both served before the mast.” 

For a moment Colin remained silent, his eyes fixed 
steadily upon the lawyer’s face. 

“I don’t know whether you’re telling me the truth, 
Medwin,” he said. “If you’re not, heaven help you. 
I’ll find you again, no matter where you try to hide, 
and I’ll tear your lying tongue out of your throat with 
my own fingers.” 

Medwin nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I can quite be¬ 
lieve you would, but, fortunately, such an unpleasant 
proceeding won’t be necessary. As I told you before, 
I know when the game’s up.” 

Colin replaced the poker in the grate, then, crossing 


25 ° 


THE RED LODGE 


to the desk, on which stood a portable telephone, he 
unhooked the receiver and asked for Marsden’s num¬ 
ber. The lawyer watched him curiously. 

“Hullo!” came the Inspector’s voice. 

“This is Gray. I’m speaking from Albert Terrace. 
I’ve got the information I wanted.” 

“You mean you know where the girl is?” 

“Yes. She’s at a cottage in Essex, close to South 
Ockendon. Fenton means to take her on board his 
boat as soon as it’s dark.” 

“Who told you this?” 

“Medwin. I had to use a certain amount of per¬ 
suasion, but I think it’s true.” 

“What have you done to him?” 

“He’s all right. He’s lying on the sofa listening 
to what I’m saying. We’ve tied him up, and we pro¬ 
pose to leave him here.” 

“How about the servants?” 

“Both out at the theatre. They’re not likely to be 
back until half-past five.” 

“Sounds as if you’d made a pretty tidy job of it,” 
was Marsden’s comment. “You’d better come back 
here as quickly as possible and pick me up in the car. 
If what he’s told you is right, the sooner we have a 
look at this cottage the better.” 

“We’re starting now,” replied Colin. “We’ll be 
with you in a quarter of an hour.” 

He rang off, and, picking up his hat from the chair, 
turned to Medwin. 

“This is your last chance,” he said. “You know 
what to expect if you’ve sent me on a false errand.” 


THE RED LODGE 


251 


“You can make your mind quite easy,” returned 
the other. “You’ll find Miss Seymour at the cottage, 
and I have no doubt she will be delighted to see you. 
You’re exactly the sort of primitive young savage that 
appeals to women.” 

Joe stepped forward pleadingly. “Let me give ’im 
one, doctor—only just one. That’ll learn ’im to call 
you names.” 

“No,” said Colin. “Leave him alone. He’ll have 
all he deserves by the time we’ve finished with him.” 

He walked toward the door, and, with one reluctant 
glance at the smiling and half-prostrate figure on the 
sofa, Joe followed him out into the hall. 


Two men muffled up in long coats, who were wait¬ 
ing just inside the entrance, stepped forward at once 
as the car came to a standstill again at the main gate¬ 
way of the Yard. 

From under the peaked cap of the former the sharp 
eyes of Inspector Marsden travelled swiftly and ap¬ 
provingly over its two occupants. 

“Well, you don’t waste much time, doctor,” he 
observed. “I will say that for you.” 

“I’d have been here a lot sooner if it hadn’t been 
for the usual cursed jam in Piccadilly,” returned Colin 
viciously. 

As he spoke he leaned over and swung open the back 
door of the car. 

“Just a minute,” said the Inspector quietly. “Be¬ 
fore we start I’d like to hear a few more details about 



252 


THE RED LODGE 


this interview of yours with Medwin. We don’t want 
to go chasing down into Essex unless-” 

“I’ll give you the facts,” interrupted Colin. “If 
you don’t think they’re good enough to act on you 
can leave it to Joe and me.” 

In a few blunt words he described the scene which 
had taken place in the study, the two detectives stand¬ 
ing silently beside the car, and Joe nodding his head at 
intervals as though to confirm the truth of the story. 

“I can’t swear that he hasn’t invented the whole 
thing,” finished Colin, “but, all the same, I’m pretty 
certain there’s something in it. Whatever else Med¬ 
win may be, he isn’t a fool. He knows perfectly well 
I meant what I said, and in my opinion he’s had the 
sense to chuck up the sponge in order to save his own 
skin.” 

“The guv’nor’s right, mister,” broke in Joe 
earnestly. “ ’E’s a lyin’ swine, this bloke, but ’e didn’t 
fancy the idea of ’avin’ ’is tongue torn out, you could 
see that by ’is faice.” 

Marsden laughed grimly. “I daresay you could!” 
He turned to Colin. “I’m shocked and surprised 
that you should have taken the law into your own 
hands in this way, but, between ourselves, I believe 
you’ve done the trick.” He jerked his head toward 
the back of the car. “Jump in, sergeant. We can 
make use of the doctor’s information even if we don’t 
approve of his methods.” 

As he spoke he seated himself alongside of Colin, 
while the sergeant, a heavily built individual with a 
chin like the toe of a boot, clambered up obediently 



THE RED LODGE 


253 


into the tonneau. Directly he was on board Colin 
thrust in his clutch, and the next moment they were 
spinning up the broad roadway in the direction of 
Waterloo Bridge. 

“I suppose I made it plain that this isn’t going to be 
any sort of a picnic,” said Colin, with a side glance at 
his companion. “According to Medwin, we’ve got 
Cooper and Hudson to tackle as well as Fenton, and 
I should think it’s a hundred to one that they’ll all 
three be armed.” 

“Cooper will for a certainty,” replied the Inspector, 
“and what’s more, he won’t hesitate to shoot. How¬ 
ever, I took the precaution of slipping a Smith and 
Webley into my pocket, and I told Bentley to do the 
same. If Mister Cooper prefers a bullet to a rope, 
he can damned well take his choice.” 

“I only hope Medwin doesn’t get away,” said Colin, 
with some feeling. “He’s tied up all right at present, 
but his servants will be back before we’re through with 
this job, and directly they’ve set him loose he’ll prob¬ 
ably try to do a bolt.” 

“He may try,” returned the Inspector, “but he 
won’t get very far. I’ve sent down two of our best 
men to watch the house, and, no matter where he 
goes, they’ll stick to him like his shadow.” 

He paused for a moment as Colin swerved round a 
cluster of startled pedestrians, and then added with 
a dry smile: “We don’t want to waste any time, doc¬ 
tor, but you might just keep it in mind that I’m a 
married man, with three children dependent on me.” 

“I won’t smash you up,” replied Colin. “I may 


254 THE RED LODGE 

seem to be driving fast, but I’ve got too much at stake 
to play the fool.” 

He cut across the broad space at the corner of 
Farringdon Street, and, leaving the river on his 
right hand, plunged into one of the long warehouse- 
lined streets which lead through the heart of the city. 
The short day was already closing in, and the tall 
buildings on either side were a blaze of electric 
light. 

“I don’t know if you’re in any doubt about the way,” 
said the Inspector. “You had better consult Bentley 
if you are. He’s an Essex man himself, and knows 
every inch of the country.” 

“I think I can find it,” was Colin’s answer. He 
slowed down a little and glanced back over his shoul¬ 
der. “We go through Barking and Rainham, don’t 
we?” 

The sergeant, who was sitting up stiffly alongside 
of Joe, nodded his head. 

“That’s right, sir. It’s practically a straight road 
from there to South Ockendon.” 

They drove on silently through the crowded streets, 
the Inspector making no further attempt to talk, and 
Colin devoting his whole attention to the strenuous 
work of avoiding the traffic. 

After negotiating the apparently interminable length 
of the Commercial Road and the East India Dock 
Road, they made their way through the squalid region 
of East Ham and emerged at last into the historic if 
evil-smelling neighbourhood of Barking. 

Then, bit by bit, the houses began to give place to 


THE RED LODGE 


255 


stunted hedges and low-lying fields, while a little dis¬ 
tance away on the right the red and green lights of 
the steamers passing up and down the Thames flashed 
out mysteriously in the gathering dusk. 

Two miles of rapid driving brought them to the 
straggling village of Rainham, and, checking his speed 
a trifle as they ran through the main street, Colin 
swung out on to a lone stretch of country road, where 
except for one or two farm carts and an occasional 
belated cyclist, they seemed to be the only travellers. 

He had covered about another three miles when, 
with a sudden movement, the sergeant leaned over 
from the back. 

“We’re getting pretty near now, sir,” he observed. 
“If your information’s right, the house we want ought 
to be somewhere about here.” 

Colin slackened down, and as he did so the bent 
figure of an old man, with a pitchfork over his shoul¬ 
der, suddenly loomed into view out of an adjoining 
gateway. 

“Here’s someone who’ll probably be able to help 
us,” said Marsden. “Just pull up a moment, and 
we’ll ask him.” 

They came to a standstill alongside the stranger, 
who blinked at them suspiciously from under his 
shaggy eyebrows. 

Marsden leaned over and addressed him with a 
friendly nod. 

“Good evening, uncle,” he said. “I wonder if you 
can tell us whether there’s a house called ‘The Firs’ 
anywhere around this neighbourhood.” 


THE RED LODGE 


2 56 

With considerable deliberation the veteran un¬ 
shipped his pitchfork. 

“Whoy, yees, mister,” he replied. “There be a 
’ouse o’ that name sure enough. There aren’t no one 
there though, not as I knows on.” 

“That doesn’t matter,” said the Inspector. “We 
only want to have a look at the outside of it.” 

“You don’t ’ave to go far for that,” was the 
encouraging reply. “You’ll find it on the right-’and 
side of the road soon as you’ve passed the nex’ 
turnin’.” 

“I suppose you don’t happen to know who owns the 
place?” inquired Marsden. 

“Well, I ’ave ’eard that it’s a rich gen’leman in 
London. Party o’ the name o’ Fenton. ’E don’t use 
it much though, an’ that’s a fact; only comes down ’ere 
for an odd day or two now an’ then.” 

“Just when he wants a breath of fresh air, eh?” 
suggested Marsden genially. “Well, I’m much ob¬ 
liged to you, uncle. Perhaps you’ll get yourself a 
drink when the pubs open.” 

He produced a shilling, which the old man readily 
accepted, and, with a slight pressure of his foot on the 
clutch, Colin again set the car in motion. 

“Don’t hurry,” whispered Marsden. “Drive us 
slowly past the place and then stop. If any one’s 
inside there’s pretty sure to be a light in the windows.” 

Following his instructions, Colin proceeded noise¬ 
lessly along the road, which curved away to the left 
about a hundred yards from where they had halted. 
As he rounded the bend a dark cluster of trees sprang 


THE RED LODGE 


257 


into view a short distance ahead of him, and the next 
moment he was able to make out the roof and chimneys 
of a small house, which appeared to stand a little way 
back from the road. 

“That’s our mark,’’ observed Marsden, with a 
grunt of satisfaction. He turned round in his seat 
and addressed the sergeant. “You hop out here, 
Bentley, and have a look at it from this side. We’ll 
come back and meet you at the front gate.” 

With surprising quickness for so heavy a man, the 
sergeant stepped nimbly over on to the running‘board, 
and, just as they reached the shelter of the trees, 
dropped down into the roadway. 

Driving on slowly, Colin passed the head of a 
narrow lane which turned off to the right. Beyond 
it a high wooden paling fronted the main road, broken 
in the centre by a couple of dilapidated iron gates, 
one of which was standing partly open. Farther 
back, behind a straggling shrubbery of laurels, the 
yellow gleam of a lighted window shone out into the 
garden. 

“Someone’s at home, evidently,” muttered the In¬ 
spector. “Take us on as far as the end of the paling 
and pull up there. I’d like to know exactly how the 
land lies before we start work.” 

Contenting himself with a nod, Colin continued his 
way along the fence until he suddenly arrived at a 
closed gate leading into a ploughed field, from which 
an untrimmed hedge ran up at right angles, forming 
the boundary of the adjoining property. There was 
a piece of level grass at the side of the road, and, 


THE RED LODGE 


258 

guiding the car on to this, he stopped the engine, and 
then, bending forward, switched off the headlights. 

“You and Bates stay here for a moment,” whis¬ 
pered Marsden. “Keep still and don’t talk to each 
other. I’m just going along to have a squint through 
the hedge.” 

Getting out of the car, he climbed carefully over 
the gate, and moved up the field with the stealthiness 
of a poacher, until his burly figure was gradually lost 
to sight amid the shadows of the bushes. 

He reappeared again after an absence of several 
minutes, and both Colin and Joe leaned eagerly for¬ 
ward from their seats as he clambered back and 
dropped lightly down beside them. 

“Everything’s in darkness this side of the house,” 
he announced, “and, as far as I can see, there’s no way 
of getting out of the garden. We’d better make 
tracks for the front gate and hear what Bentley’s got 
to report.” 

Leaving the car as it was, the three of them stole 
silently back under the shelter of the fence, and came 
to a halt beneath the branches of a draggled-looking 
holly tree which overhung the drive. 

After a brief wait they were joined by the sergeant, 
who emerged furtively from the side turning and 
advanced on tiptoe to where they w'^re standing. 

“I’ve found another entrance down the lane,” he 
informed them. “It leads to a yard at the back, 
where there’s a big shed that looks like a garage.” 

“A garage, eh?” rejoined Marsden. “Well, I guess 
somebody will have to keep an eye on that side of the 


THE RED LODGE 


259 


house while the rest of us find some way of getting 
in at the front.” He paused for a moment, and then 
added quietly: “We’ll take a look at the job first, and 
make up our minds exactly how we’re going to tackle 
it. Unless we can drop in on ’em unexpectedly it’s 
likely to be a pretty awkward business.” 

Followed by the others, he started cautiously for¬ 
ward up the drive, and, skirting the edge of the 
shrubbery, came out on to a neglected strip of grass, 
which at some remote period had evidently been a 
tennis lawn. 

Facing them was the house, an old-fashioned two- 
story residence, with a tumble-down verandah half cov¬ 
ered in ivy. From the French windows in the centre 
a broad patch of light streamed out hospitably through 
the drawn blinds. 

Marsden’s gaze travelled thoughtfully from one end 
of the building to the other. 

“There’s only one way to do it,” he said, in a low 
voice. “We shall have to smash in the window and 
trust to luck.” He turned to the sergeant. “We may 
nab the lot of them if we’re quick enough, but we can’t 
count on that, not when we’ve an old hand like Cooper 
to deal with. You’d better slip round to the yard 
again, Bentley, and keep a watch on the back door.” 

His assistant nodded. “Very good, sir. It won’t 
take me more than a couple of minutes. I’ll give you 
a whistle as soon as I’m ready.” 

He disappeared promptly and silently, and, step¬ 
ping back to where Colin and Joe were hiding in the 
shadow, the Inspector stooped down beside them. 


i6o 


THE RED LODGE 


“I think the simplest plan will be for one of us to 
tackle the window,” he said. “I’ll do that, and you 
two get ready to rush in the moment it’s open.” 

“Supposing we can’t force it?” whispered Colin. 
“Some of these windows have a bar across on the 
inside.” 

“In that case we must break the glass and get in as 
best we can. If Cooper looks like making trouble, 
keep out of the way and leave him to me.” 

He produced a heavy Service revolver, and, having 
clicked open the breech, proceeded to examine it with 
some care. 

With his hands clenched and his heart beating 
fiercely, Colin started out across the lawn, waiting for 
the signal. The feeling that ever since the morning 
Nancy had been a prisoner in one of those rooms, and 
at the mercy of such a scoundrel as Fenton, filled him 
with an apprehension that was almost unbearable. 
Even if they were in time to save her from the worst 
fate of all, heaven knew what hardships and misery 
she must have been through during the last eight 
hours. His nerves tingled with a savage longing to 
be face to face with the man who was responsible for 
her sufferings, and, crouching there in the darkness, he 
swore a bitter oath to himself that, whatever else hap¬ 
pened, Fenton should not escape. 

Suddenly, through the silence of the garden, a low 
whistle sounded clearly from the back of the house. 
Colin was on his feet instantly, but before he could 
take a step forward both he and Joe were checked by 
a quick movement from their companion. 


THE RED LODGE 


261 


“I’ll go first, doctor,” whispered the Inspector. 
“You two keep close behind, and follow me in directly 
I smash the lock.” 

Stooping low, and holding the revolver in his left 
hand, he set off at a rapid pace across the lawn. It 
was only about twenty yards from the bushes to the 
house, and in less than half a dozen seconds all three 
of them were in front of the verandah. 

Without pausing in his stride, Marsden made 
straight for the French window. It consisted of two 
fragile-looking doors with a large pane of glass in 
each, and, using his shoulder as a battering ram, the 
detective hurled the full weight of his fourteen stone 
against the strip of woodwork in the centre. 

The other two, who were immediately behind him, 
heard a splintering crash and a tinkle of broken glass. 
Then in the blaze of light that streamed out through 
the gap they saw Marsden stumble forward on to his 
hands and knees, and, like a scene on the stage, the 
whole interior of the room suddenly leaped into view. 

No theatre, indeed, could have provided a more 
dramatic spectacle than the one which met Colin’s 
eyes as he dashed for the opening. A couple of men, 
whom he recognized instantly as Cooper and Hudson, 
had sprung to their feet beside an overturned card 
table, and were standing as though rooted to the spot 
with amazement and terror. 

It was only for the fraction of a second, however, 
that the tableau remained unbroken. As Colin darted 
in past the Inspector, Cooper, who was the farther 
away of the two, seemed instinctively to recover his 


262 


THE RED LODGE 


wits. With a movement as quick as a panther’s he 
dived back behind his companion, and, taking a flying 
jump over the fallen table, raced headlong for the 
door. 

His flight seemed to act on the deserted Hudson 
like the breaking of a spell. A foul oath burst from 
his lips, and, grabbing one of the overturned chairs by 
its nearest leg, he hurled it with all his force straight 
in the face of Colin. 

The latter, who saw it coming, jerked up his arm 
just in time. It struck against his elbow and crashed 
down on to the floor, tripping up Joe as he attempted 
to dodge past in pursuit of the fugitive. 

Staggered himself by the blow, Colin recovered al¬ 
most instantly. One stride brought him within reach 
of his assailant, and, ducking under a clumsy swing, he 
smashed home a terrific right flush on the point of the 
jaw. It was a punch that would have floored ninety- 
nine men out of a hundred, and Mr. Jake Hudson 
was one of the unfortunate majority. He went down 
as though struck by a coal hammer, the back of his 
head landing with a loud thud against the edge of the 
table. 

Brief though the delay had been, it had enabled 
“Spike” Cooper to achieve his object. He was through 
the door and had slammed and locked it behind him 
before the Inspector and Joe were able to gain their 
feet. It was Colin, indeed, who was the first to reach 
it, and he was already wrenching vainly at the handle 
when the two others rushed up to his assistance. 

“Wait a minute,” rasped the Inspector, who was 


THE RED LODGE 263 

evidently not in the best of tempers. “Let me blow 
in the lock, then we shall have a better chance.” 

Levelling his pistol, he emptied a couple of shots 
into the keyhole, the powerful bullets smashing and 
splintering the woodwork in every direction. As the 
second report died away they heard a scurry of foot¬ 
steps outside, followed almost immediately by the un¬ 
mistakable bang of another door. 

Pocketing his pistol, the Inspector gripped hold of 
the knob with both hands, and, as he jerked it violently 
toward him, the shattered bolt snapped and yielded. 
One more pull, and they stumbled over the threshold 
into a dimly lighted hall, where, framed in a doorway 
opposite, stood, or rather swayed, the slender figure 
of a girl. 

A low cry escaped Colin’s lips, and, breaking from 
his companions, he sprang forward and caught her 
in his arms. 

“Nancy! Nancy darling! Thank Qpd, we’ve found 
you!” 

As he uttered the words the sound of two pistol 
shots rang out from the back of the house, and with 
a stifled oath the Inspector hurried toward them. 

“Which is the way through into the yard?” he 
demanded. 

Nancy pointed across toward a door on the right. 

“There!” she gasped. “But it’s locked. I heard 
them lock it and bolt it. You can only get round by 
the garden.” 

“Come with me, Bates,” snapped the Inspector. 
“You stop here, doctor, and take care of the girl.” 


THE RED LODGE 


264 

He ran toward ’the sitting room, followed by Joe, 
while Nancy, who had momentarily straightened her¬ 
self as she answered his question, sank weakly back 
again against Colin’s shoulder. 

Lifting her in his arms, he carried her to a small 
couch which was standing against the wall. 

“Tell me, Nancy,’’ he whispered, “tell me. Are you 
hurt?” 

With a gallant effort she smiled up reassuringly into 
his face. 

“No,” she said. “I am only tired out and a little 
faint. I—I’ve been through a good deal since this 
morning, Colin.” 

He sat down beside her, taking her hands in his. 

“They brought you a forged letter from Penwarren, 
didn’t they? The girl who lives next door to you told 
us something about it.” 

She nodded. “I suppose it was foolish of me to be 
taken in, but it looked to me just like his handwriting. 
It said that he had suddenly discovered the truth 
about my father and mother, and that he had come 
up to town especially to see me. I went off in the 
car almost without thinking.” 

“Where did they take you to?” 

“Some house close to Kensington High Street. 
There was another man there besides Major Fenton— 
a horrible middle-aged, smiling man—and when 
they got me inside they held me down and drugged me 
with a hypodermic syringe. I think it must have 
been opium they gave me. Anyhow, the next 
thing I remember is waking up with a frightful head- 


THE RED LODGE 265 

ache, and finding myself locked up alone in that 
room.” 

With great difficulty Colin managed to steady his 
voice. “How long ago was that?” he asked. 

“It seems ages, but I think it must have been about 
the middle of the day.” 

“And when did Fenton come back?” 

“Just as it was growing dark. He had been down 
to the river to get the yacht ready, and had left one 
of the men here to look after me. He told me ex¬ 
actly what he meant to do—that he was going to 
take me away on the boat and keep me there until—* 
until-” Her voice faltered. 

“I know,” said Colin quickly. “Eve had the whole 
story from Medwin!” 

“The whole story! Oh, Colin, what does it mean? 
Why should he-” 

“You shall hear everything in a minute,” he inter¬ 
rupted. “Just tell me first what happened when we 
broke into the house.” 

“It was all over so quickly,” said Nancy. “He was 
in there talking to me and threatening me when he 
suddenly heard a tremendous crash, and one of the 
others—the man they call Spike—rushed into the room 
and shouted out something about the police. Before 

I could-” She stopped abruptly. “Listen!” she 

exclaimed. “They’re coming back.” 

There was a sound of voices and steps on the 
verandah outside, and, letting go Nancy’s hands, Colin 
jumped to his feet. 

He walked across to the sitting-room door, where 





266 


THE RED LODGE 


the sight which met his eyes caused him to hurry for¬ 
ward with a sudden exclamation of dismay. The 
Inspector and Joe were coming in through the window, 
carrying between them the limp, unconscious body of 
Sergeant Bentley. 

Marsden glanced round, his usually stolid face 
flushed and contorted. 

“They’ve shot him, doctor—shot him down like a 
dog and got away in the car. They must have had 
it standing ready in the garage.” 

As he spoke, he and Joe lowered their burden gently 
on to the thick rug which lay just across the window, 
and the next instant Colin had dropped on his knees, 
and was bending forward over the prostrate figure. 

To an untrained eye the spectacle was a ghastly 
one, for the man’s face was covered with blood, which 
had trickled down from a broad gash in his forehead. 
His pulse was still beating, however, and after feeling 
it for a few moments, and then closely examining the 
injury, Colin looked up with a little gesture of relief. 

“It’s not as bad as it appears,” he announced. 
“The bullet must have struck him sideways and glanced 
off the outside of his temple. He’s only stunned.” 

“Only stunned!” repeated the Inspector. “Well, 
in that case he can stop here with Bates and Miss 
Seymour, while you and I go after the others. If 
they once get on board that boat we may have the 
devil’s work in catching them.” 

Colin started up immediately, but before he could 
speak he was interrupted by Nancy, who had followed 
him into the room. 


THE RED LODGE 


267 

“I can tell you where the yacht’s lying,” she said. 
“I heard them talking about it. It’s in some small 
creek just this side of Thames Haven.” 

The Inspector wheeled round sharply on Colin. 
“Do you know the way?” he demanded. “Do you 
think you can overtake them?” 

“I expect I can,” replied Colin, “unless Nancy 
would rather I stayed with her.” 

She shook her head decisively. “I shall be all right 
with Joe,” she said. “I want to see those two men 
punished for trying to kill you.” 

“You’d want it still more if you knew what we do, 
miss,” said the Inspector drily. 

He rummaged in the sergeant’s pocket, and, pulling 
out a pair of light steel handcuffs, snapped them 
round the wrists of the still unconscious Hudson. 

Colin turned to Nancy. “You might bathe this 
poor fellow’s wound, and bandage him up with a clean 
handkerchief. If he comes round before we get back, 
make him lie perfectly still on the sofa.” 

She nodded quietly, and with an approving grunt 
the Inspector offered her his hand. 

“Thank you, miss,” he said. “You’re a fine young 
lady, and I couldn’t be more pleased to see you safe, 
not if you were my own daughter.” Then, as if half 
embarrassed by this outburst, he added brusquely. 
“Come along, doctor! They’ve got a good start al¬ 
ready, and we’re only wasting time talking here.” 

He strode toward the window, and, just pausing 
to press a kiss on Nancy’s fingers, Colin followed him 
out into the garden. 


268 


THE RED LODGE 


They made their way rapidly across the lawn and 
down to the front gate. The moon, which was almost 
at its full, had already risen, its silver beauty lighting 
up the roadway as plainly as though it were daytime. 

The Inspector glanced up into the sky with some 
gratitude. 

“We shall be able to see where we’re going, at all 
events,” he observed. “How far do you think the 
river is from here?” 

“It must be about ten miles to Thames Haven,” 
was Colin’s answer. “There’s no other place they 
could have left the yacht—not this side of Canvey 
Island.” 

“Ten miles!” echoed the other. “Well, if Fenton 
knows anything about driving it’s going to be a pretty 
close business.” 

Breaking into a run, they hurried along the road to 
where they had left the car, and with a sharp jerk of 
the handle Colin set the engine in motion. Followed 
by the Inspector, he scrambled into his seat, and a few 
seconds later he had backed hastily along the oak pal¬ 
ing, and swung round into the side turning which ran 
southward across the marshes. 

It was not a route that any one who was fond of his 
life would have selected deliberately for the purposes 
of fast driving. Narrow and winding, with a thick 
coating of mud plastered over its surface, it presented 
such obvious dangers that even the most foolhardy 
of motorists would have been forced to recognize the 
advisability of caution. 

Caution, however, was the particular virtue which 


THE RED LODGE 


269 

Colin felt least able to afford. Unless he could make 
up his lost ground on the more difficult stages of the 
journey he could certainly abandon all hope of success, 
for on an open and moonlit road Fenton’s progress 
would probably be as fast as his own. 

With a full appreciation of the chances that he was 
taking he therefore let out the car to a pace which 
in any other circumstances he would never have at¬ 
tempted. Bumping over patches of loose stone, and 
splashing through pools of water, he held resolutely 
on, regardless of risk, while all the time immediately 
ahead of him two broad and recently imprinted tire 
marks stretched away encouragingly through the 
mud. 

Whatever the Inspector’s private emotions may have 
been, it must be admitted that he faced the ordeal with 
masterly restraint. Once or twice, as they skidded 
violently round a blind corner, he caught hold of the 
side door with a spasmodic grip, but except for this 
instinctive movement he maintained an expressionless 
calm which certainly did credit to the self-discipline of 
the Yard. 

For the first three miles Colin needed all his skill 
and luck to avoid disaster; then, as they drew farther 
out into the lonely marshland which borders the north 
bank of the Thames, the conditions gradually im¬ 
proved. The east wind, which blows perpetually over 
that desolate region, had already begun to dry up the 
surface of the road, while with nothing but an oc¬ 
casional cowshed or a few leafless trees to obstruct the 
view, the chances of running headlong into some un- 


270 


THE RED LODGE 


foreseen death trap were reduced to much more com¬ 
forting proportions. 

Suddenly, with an abrupt movement, the Inspector 
pointed ahead, to where a broad shaft of yellow light 
streamed out against the sky. 

“What’s that?” he demanded, putting his lips close 
to Colin’s ear. 

“Mucking Lighthouse,” was the answer. “There 
are some powder works away to the right, and the 
creek they’re making for is just between the two.” 

At a furious pace the car leaped forward along the 
deserted road, the telltale track of the fugitives still 
standing out plainly in the glare of the head lamps. 
Colin was much too occupied with the wheel to indulge 
in any further attempt at conversation, while shelter¬ 
ing his eyes from the wind with one hand, and grasp¬ 
ing the back of the seat with the other, the Inspector 
stared out in front of him in grim silence. 

Rounding a slight curve between two low banks, 
they emerged into a long stretch of almost perfectly 
straight roadway, and at the same moment a simul¬ 
taneous shout burst from both their lips. There in 
the moonlight, not more than half a mile away, they 
could see the dark outline and gleaming tail lamp of 
another car, travelling swiftly in the same direction 
as themselves. 

“There they are!” roared the Inspector. “Keep 
her going, doctor! Keep her going, and we’ve got 
’em!” 

With an inward prayer that his tires would stand 
the strain, Colin drove down the accelerator to its 


THE RED LODGE 


271 


extreme limit. The well-tuned engine responded to 
his call, and with the wind rushing in their faces, and 
the whole chassis quivering and rocking beneath them, 
they surged on recklessly in pursuit of their escaping 
quarry. 

Any doubt as to the respective pace of the two cars 
was settled in the next minute. Slowly but surely 
the distance between them lessened, until in the bright 
moonlight it was possible to make out the bare head 
and broad shoulders of “Spike” Cooper as he crouched 
in the seat alongside the driver, staring back over the 
swaying tonneau. 

“Look out for that devil!” shouted the Inspector. 
“He’ll start shooting directly we’re close enough.” 

Clutching his own pistol in his hand, he leaned for¬ 
ward over the dashboard, his eyes glued on the motion¬ 
less figure ahead. 

Nearer and nearer they drew, the mud and gravel 
flying from beneath their wheels, the roar and throb 
of the engine seeming to beat time to the mad rhythm 
of the chase. 

Suddenly, with a warning cry, Marsden raised his 
weapon. There was a simultaneous spurt of flame 
from both cars, and with a vicious thud something 
buried itself in the padded seat just beside Colin’s 
shoulder. 

Crack! Crack! Crack! 

A second bullet* ripped its way along the front mud 
guard, and then, with a kind of stupefying and unim¬ 
aginable abruptness, the end came. 

Colin was just conscious of a shower of sparks from 


272 


THE RED LODGE 


beneath the steel-studded tires as the car in front of 
him swerved violently across the road. 

By some instinctive movement his hand shot out 
toward the brake lever, and almost at the same second 
came a deafening and appalling crash that seemed to 
strike him in the face like a blow from a list. 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


“That’s done it,” remarked the Inspector bitterly. 

He was standing in the car which Colin had just 
pulled up, staring down over a heap of stones at the 
black mass of broken wreckage which reared itself 
fantastically amongst the grass. 

“I should think it was about the finish,” said Colin 
quietly. “What on earth made them skid in that 
extraordinary way?” 

“I suppose I hit Fenton by mistake,” said the In¬ 
spector. “Just like my cursed luck. He must have 
driven straight into it and gone clean over the top. 
It’s a hundred to one they’re both dead.” 

“We’ll soon find out, anyhow,” was Colin’s answer, 
and, opening the door as he spoke, he jumped down 
into the roadway. 

A few strides brought him alongside the fallen car, 
where, in the pitiless moonlight, every detail of the 
tragedy stood out with horrible distinctness. Almost 
the first sight that met his eyes was the bodies of 
Fenton and Cooper, the former pinned down under 
the debris amid a cloud of escaping steam, and the 
other sprawled full length on the bare ground. 

It was very obvious that nothing could be done for 
Fenton. The top of his skull had been smashed in 
like an eggshell, and, after just pausing to glance at 
2 73 


274 


THE RED LODGE 


the injury, Colin hurried over toward the prostrate 
figure of his companion. 

The Canadian was lying on his face, his arms and 
legs flung out at a grotesque angle. To any one with 
medical knowledge there was something fatally sug¬ 
gestive about the mere attitude of the limbs, and it was 
no little surprise to Colin that, as he stooped down to 
make a closer examination, a low groan reached his 
ears. 

With great care he turned over the helpless man 
and raised him in his arms. 

“Well, we’ve got one of ’em alive, anyhow,” ob¬ 
served the Inspector, who had followed him across the 
grass. 

As though conscious of the remark, Cooper opened 
his eyes, and for a moment lay there with his head on 
Colin’s shoulder, gazing up vaguely into the two faces 
above him. Then something that was almost a grin 
flickered across his face. 

“I guess we’ve met before, mister,” he jerked out 
faintly. “Say, how the hell did your friends get you 
out of that cellar?” 

“Never mind now,” interrupted the detective curtly. 
“You’ve got something else to think about at present. 
I am Inspector Marsden of Scotland Yard, and I arrest 
you for the murder of Professor Carter.” 

There was a glint of mockery in Cooper’s face as 
his eyes travelled slowly in the direction of the 
speaker. 

“Good for you, Sherlock Holmes,” he gasped. “I 
reckon the British police ain’t quite such duds after 


THE RED LODGE 


275 

all.” He paused, as though the effort of speaking had 
been almost too much for him. “It’s tough luck you 
won’t get the credit of hanging me,” he added, in an 
even feebler voice. “Still, if you will be so damn 

careless with that gun o’ yours-” He stopped, 

and with a little choking cough spat out a mouthful of 
blood. 

The Inspector turned anxiously to Colin. 

“What’s the matter with him?” he demanded. 

“His spine’s practically broken,” said Colin. “He 
can’t live more than a few minutes.” 

Marsden bent over the dying man, on whose white 
face the moonlight streamed down with a peculiarly 
ghastly effect. 

“Listen to me, Cooper,” he said. “We know all 
about you. We’ve got your record from Montreal. 
Fenton’s dead, and I don’t imagine that our friend 
Medwin is a particular pal of yours. Come, man, 
you may just as well tell us the truth.” 

Cooper, who seemed to be breathing with extreme 
difficulty, moistened his lips. 

“It’s no good, mister,” he faltered. “You can’t 
put a rope round Medwin’s neck—not this journey. 
He hadn’t no more to do with croaking the old guy 
than you or the doctor.” 

Marsden nodded. “I know that,” he said. “You 
broke into the house the second time by yourself in 
order to try and rob the safe. Neither Fenton nor 
Medwin knew anything about it—until afterward.” 

Cooper looked up at him again, the same half- 
jeering smile on his drawn face. 



THE RED LODGE 


276 

“You ought to be with Pinkerton/’ he gasped. 
u You’re just wasted here.” 

As he dragged out the last word another paroxysm 
of coughing overtook him. It lasted for several sec¬ 
onds, and then, with a queer, fluttering movement of 
the eyelids, his head suddenly lolled over sideways on 
to his shoulder, the under jaw dropping open at the 
same time. 

Colin lowered his burden to the ground, and after 
wiping his hands on the grass, rose to his feet. 

For a moment the Inspector stood still, gazing down 
at the body. 

“Well, that’s done the hangman out of a job,” he 
observed regretfully. “What’s more, I believe the 
devil was right. We shall only be able to charge 
Medwin with conspiracy, though if any man ever 
deserved- Hullo! here’s somebody coming!” 

He broke off abruptly at the sight of a dark figure, 
which was approaching along the roadway from the 
direction in which they had been travelling. 

“One of the men from the powder works, I expect,” 
said Colin. “We’re quite close by, and they probably 
heard the crash.” 

Marsden stepped forward to meet the new arrival, 
who had turned on to the grass and was hurrying 
rapidly toward them. As he drew nearer they saw 
that he was a respectable-looking middle-aged man, 
dressed in a rough suit of tweeds. 

He came on at a kind of stumbling run, and pulled 
up with an exclamation of horror as the full extent 
of the disaster suddenly met his eyes. 



THE RED LODGE 


277 

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “I was afraid there 
had been a bad accident. Is anybody killed?” 

“Yes,” said Marsden bluntly. “Both these men 
are dead.” He paused. “Who are you, sir, and 
where do you come from?” he asked. 

“My name’s Trevor. I’m the head electrician at 
the powder mills just down the road.” 

“Well, I’m a police officer,” said Marsden, “and 
this gentleman is Doctor Gray.” 

“A police officer?” repeated the other. “Is there 
anything-” 

“One of our friends here,” continued Marsden, 
jerking his head in the direction of Cooper’s body, 
“is the murderer of Professor Carter. I have no 
doubt you read about the case in the papers. The 
other was wanted on an almost equally serious charge.” 

Their new acquaintance stood staring at them in 
open-mouthed amazement. 

“But—but what on earth were they doing down 
here?” he stammered. 

“They were trying to reach Thames Haven, where 
they hoped to get on board a boat. We were follow¬ 
ing them in another car, and just as they got to this 
point they swerved right across the road into that heap 
of stones. You can see the result for yourself.” 

The electrician nodded his head. “Yes,” he re¬ 
plied, “I can. You must excuse my being a bit 
flabbergasted, but it’s pretty quiet round about here 
as a rule, and this kind of thing’s a trifle out of my 
line.” He removed the soft hat that he was wearing 
and wiped his forehead with his coat sleeve. “What 



THE RED LODGE 


278 

do you propose to do?” he asked. “We’ve a tele¬ 
phone at the works if you’d like me to get into com¬ 
munication with any one.” 

Mardsen pulled out his pocketbook and extracted 
a card. 

“This is my name,” he said. “Do you mind going 
straight back and ringing up the Southend Police 
Station? Say that you’re speaking for me, and ask 
them to send out a motor ambulance and a car as 
soon as possible. They’ll know the powder works, 
and when they arrive perhaps you’ll be good enough 
to bring them on here.” 

“Why, certainly,” was the answer. “In the mean¬ 
while, if there’s anything you want that I can let 
you have-” 

“Well, I don’t know if you could run to a whisky 
and soda,” suggested Marsden hopefully. “I could 
do with a drink after what we’ve been through the 
last quarter of an hour.” 

“I’ll send one of the men along with it,” responded 
the other, and without waiting to be thanked he nodded 
a hasty farewell, and set off at once in the direction 
of the roadway. 

Marsden turned to Colin. “You can get back to 
‘The Firs’ and pick up Miss Seymour if you like. 
There’s no point in your remaining here, unless you 
want to stop until the whisky comes.” 

“Oh, hang the whisky!” said Colin. “It’s you I’m 
thinking of. I can’t leave you stranded in a ditch 
with a couple of corpses.” 

“You needn’t worry about that,” returned Marsden 



THE RED LODGE 


279 

cheerfully. “I’ve been in worse company, and, in any 
case, the Southend police will be turning up in round 
about half an hour. No, you go along, doctor, and 
take Miss Seymour home in the car.” 

“What about the sergeant and Joe?” inquired Colin. 

“They can wait for us. We shall be passing the 
house on our way back, and if Bentley’s still uncon¬ 
scious there’ll be room for him in the ambulance.” 

“Well, it seems rather a shame to desert you,” said 
Colin. “All the same, if you really don’t mind I 
think I will push off. Nancy must be pretty well 
tired out, and the sooner I can get her back to Shad- 
well the better.” 

“She’ll be all right,” said Marsden encouragingly. 
“If you think she needs a little tonic give her my 
congratulations and tell her that she’s worth a couple 
of hundred thousand pounds.” He held out his hand. 
“You shall hear from me later in the evening. I’ll 
either ’phone you up or come down to Shadwell 
myself.” 

“Come if you possibly can,” said Colin. “Nancy 
will be longing to thank you for everything you’ve 
done, and if you want any further inducement Mark’s 
got some topping good champagne.” 


The light was still streaming out through the 
shattered window as, leaving his car at the gate of 
“The Firs,” Colin once more made his way up the 
drive and strode eagerly across the lawn. 

On reaching the verandah he found that the broken 



28 o 


THE RED LODGE 


hasp had been fastened roughly together inside by a 
piece of wire, and while he was endeavouring to dis¬ 
entangle the latter the figure of Joe appeared suddenly 
in the doorway. 

At the sight of Colin he hastened forward with a 
shout of welcome. 

“ ’Alf a moment, guv’nor. ’Ere, let me get at it. 
You’ll cut your ’and on that glass if you ain’t careful.” 

With a quick turn of his fingers he wrenched off 
the wire and flung open the window, and at the same 
moment Nancy herself came hurrying into the 
room. 

a Oh, Colin, at last!” she cried. “I was so afraid 
that something had happened to you.” 

Regardless of Joe, Colin took her into his arms 
and kissed her two or three times with reassuring 
fervour. 

“Nothing has happened to me, Nancy,” he said. 
“I’m afraid I can’t say the same with regard to Fenton 
and Cooper.” 

She looked up at him with a startled expression in 
her eyes. 

“Colin!” she exclaimed. “You don’t mean-” 

His arms tightened round her. “I had to let you 
know,” he said gently, “though I hate to spring any 
more horrors on your. I’m not sure it isn’t all for the 
best. Cooper would certainly have been hanged, and 
as for Fenton-” 

“Wot’s ’appened, gov’nor?” broke in Joe anxiously. 
“You ain’t goin’ to tell me they’re both dead?” 

“They were when I left them,” said Colin. “As 




THE RED LODGE 


281 


dead as any one I’ve ever seen in my life. They ran 
into a heap of loose stones just this side of Thames 
Haven and smashed themselves to pieces.” 

“Well, if that ain’t the limit!” observed Joe dis¬ 
gustedly. “ ’Ere’ ave I bin waitin’ to bash ’ell outer 
that bloke Cooper-” 

“Stop, Joe!” commanded Nancy almost angrily. “I 
won’t have you talking like that. It’s wicked.” 

The abashed boxer fell back, and with a quick 
breath she turned again to Colin. 

“Where’s the Inspector?” she asked. “Why hasn’t 
he come with you?” 

“He’s all right,” said Colin. “We got someone 
to send a message through to the Southend police, and 
he’s waiting for them to turn up with a motor 
ambulance. He suggested that in the meanwhile I 
should come on here and take you home in the car. 
He’s going to call for Joe and the sergeant on his 
way back.” He paused and glanced inquiringly round 
the room. “By the way,” he added, “where is the 
sergeant, and what’s happened to my pal Jake Hud¬ 
son?” 

“Hudson’s locked up in the cellar,” replied Nancy. 
“We carried the other poor man into the hall and put 
him on the sofa. I bandaged up his head as well as 
I could, but he’s still unconscious.” 

“I’ll go in and have a look at him,” said Colin. 
“Then I should think we might as well push off. I’ve 
all sorts of exciting news for you, Nancy.” 

“If you mean about Mr. Carter being my grand¬ 
father,” she interrupted calmly, “I know that already.” 



282 


THE RED LODGE 


Colin stared at her in amazement. a You know it 
already?” he repeated. 

She nodded her head. “Yes,” she said, “Joe told 
me. Of course, there’s a lot I don’t understand yet, 
but-” 

“I didn’t mean to do it, guv’nor,” protested Joe; 
“strike me dead if I did. She jest started askin’ ques¬ 
tions, and afore I knew wot ’ad ’appened, damn me if 
I ’adn’t given away the ’ole show.” 

Colin looked from one to the other of them', and 
then began to laugh. 

“I thought I could depend on you, Joe,” he said 
reproachfully. 

The boxer glanced at Nancy with a kind of admiring 
resentment. “I always reckoned I could keep my 
mouth shut,” he muttered, “but she’s one o’ them 
young laidies a bloke ain’t got no chance with.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” said 
Nancy. “Anyhow, Colin, do come along and see what 
you think of my patient. We shall have plenty of 
time to talk about me when we’re going home in the 
car.” 

She led the way out into the hall, and, crossing to 
where the unconscious and heavily breathing Bentley 
lay propped upon the sofa amongst a pile of cushions, 
Colin bent down to inspect the bandages which en¬ 
circled his head. 

“Nothing the matter with this,” he said approv¬ 
ingly. You must have been having lessons from 
Mark in your spare time.” He made a brief examina¬ 
tion of the man’s pulse and general condition, while 



THE RED LODGE 


283 

the others stood by watching him in silence. “I don’t 
think there’ll be much to worry about when he comes 
round,” he added, “but of course he’ll have to keep 
to his bed for a day or two.” He turned to Joe. 
“Put some of these cushions round him so that he 
isn’t shaken about in the ambulance, and tell Marsden 
to take him to the hospital directly you reach London.” 

“I believe there must be some kind of curse on me,” 
said Nancy rather ruefully. “I seem to bring trouble 
on everyone I have anything to do with.” 

“You ain’t no call to feel like that, miss,” objected 
Joe. “A cracked ’ead ain’t much in the way of trouble 
—not for a policeman, any’ow.” 

“You can be pretty sure that that’s the way in 
which Bentley will look at it,” said Colin. “As for 
the Inspector”—his gray eyes lit up with a boyish 
twinkle—“well, if he hadn’t told me that he was a 
married man with three children I should have been 
jolly careful not to ask him round to Shadwell this 
evening.” 

With a little laugh Nancy held out her hands 
toward him. 

“Take me home, Colin,” she said. “I feel like 
Charles Lamb when they gave him a pension. I want 
to go home for ever.” 


Mark filled up his empty glass, and, settling himself 
in his armchair, beamed paternally at Colin and 
Nancy, who were sitting opposite to him on the sofa. 
“It only shows how careful one ought to be,” he 



THE RED LODGE 


284 

said. “Just think of the chance I missed when I took 
Nancy on as a secretary! If I’d had any idea that 
she was going to blossom out suddenly as a sort of 
female Rothschild I should immediately have adopted 
her as my daughter.” 

“Perhaps it’s as well you didn’t,” said Colin, 
laughing. “She’d have found it a bit of a strain to 
carry out the fifth commandment.” 

Nancy, who was looking distractingly pretty as she 
lay back against the cushions, smiled contentedly at 
them both. 

“I think it’s much better as it is,” she said. “If 
I hadn’t known what it felt like to be bullied and 
ordered about I shouldn’t be half so happy when I’m 
married to Colin.” 

Mark set down his glass with an air of pretended 
dismay. 

“But, my dear child,” he exclaimed, “you can’t 
possibly marry Colin now. You must put that idea 
right out of your head. Why, with your looks and 
two hundred thousand pounds you might make an 
alliance with a duke.” 

There was a moment’s pause. 

“By Jove, yes!” observed Colin blankly. “I never 
thought of that.” 

He turned to Nancy, but before he could add any¬ 
thing further she raised her finger in a peremptory 
warning. 

“It’s no use, Colin dear,” she said. “Joe saw you 
hugging and kissing me at ‘The Firs,’ and I’m not the 
sort of girl to allow my young affections to be trifled 


THE RED LODGE 285 

with. If you attempt to back out of it now I shall 
sue you for breach of promise.” 

The distant tinkle of a bell sounded through the 
house, and, raising himself in his chair, Mark glanced 
indignantly at the clock. 

“Oh, hang it all!” he exclaimed. “I’m not going 
to see any more patients to-night. It’s nearly ten, 
and, besides that, I’m beautifully and comfortably 
intoxicated.” 

“It may be Marsden,” suggested Colin. “He 
promised to come down if he could manage to spare 
the time.” 

They heard the front door open and close, and after 
a brief interval the somewhat breathless figure of 
Martha Jane burst unceremoniously into the room. 

“There’s a police inspector downstairs,” she an¬ 
nounced. “ ’E says ’e’s come to see Doctor Gray.” 

Mark hoisted himself to his feet. “Show him up,” 
he said hospitably, “and then fetch along another glass. 
If any one else calls, tell them that I’ve been sent for 
to Buckingham Palace to operate on the King.” 

Leaving the door open behind her, Martha Jane 
vanished down the staircase. There was a murmur 
of voices, followed by a creak of footseps, and a 
moment later she reappeared, with the bullet head and 
broad shoulders of the detective mpunting in her wake. 

Jumping up from the sofa, Colin met him as he 
entered the room. 

“So glad you’ve been able to come, Marsden,” he 
exclaimed. “We only wanted you to complete the 
party.” He waved an introductory hand in the direc- 


286 


THE RED LODGE 


tion of Mark. “This is my friend, Doctor Ashton. I 
don’t think there’s any need to introduce you to Miss 
Seymour!” 

Marsden smiled, and, stepping forward, shook hands 
with his host. 

“Pleased to meet you, doctor,” he said. “I’m 
sorry to disturb you at this hour, but, as you’ve prob¬ 
ably heard, we’ve been having rather a busy and excit¬ 
ing afternoon.” He turned to Nancy. “I hope you’re 
not feeling much the worse for it, miss?” 

“Not a bit,” said Nancy, “thanks to you and Colin. 
I only wish I could tell you how grateful I am for all 
you’ve done for me.” 

Marsden shook his head. “It’s very good of you 
to say so, miss, but I’m not throwing any bouquets at 
myself this journey. On the contrary, I don’t think 
I’ve ever made so many blunders in a case in the whole 
of my professional career.” 

“Why, what are you worrying about?” demanded 
Colin. “Except for the regrettable fact that we can’t 
hang Cooper-” 

“You haven’t heard my news yet,” interrupted 
Marsden. “I’m almost ashamed to confess it, but the 
fact remains that we’ve allowed Medwin to slip 
through our fingers.” 

Colin stared at him incredulously. “Medwin 
escaped!” he exclaimed. 

“If you like to put it that way. He has escaped 
being sent for trial, anyhow. At the present moment 
he’s lying in the mortuary at the Kensington Police 
Station.” 



THE RED LODGE 287 

With a faint cry of horror Nancy caught hold of 
Colin’s hand. 

“It was all my fault,” continued Marsden. “I 
ought to have made certain of him before we left 
London. It never occurred to me he’d play us a 
dirty trick like this.” 

“What do you mean?” broke in Colin. “When I 
left him he was tied up on the sofa. How on 
earth-” 

“Well, the servants came back and untied him,” 
said Marsden curtly. “He invented some cock-and- 
bull story about having been attacked by a couple of 
burglars, and then sent them down to the kitchen and 
locked himself in his study. As soon as I got back 
to London I telephoned through to Kensington and 
gave instructions for his arrest, but by that time it 
was too late. They found him sitting dead in his 
chair, with a letter which he had just written lying on 
the table beside him. He had swallowed enough 
poison to kill half a dozen people.” 

There was a brief silence. 

“I see now,” said Colin slowly. “He told me he 
knew when he was beaten, and that’s evidently what 
he meant.” He paused. “And the letter?” he asked. 

Marsden put his hand in his pocket and produced 
a large square envelope. 

“The letter was my chief reason for coming down 
here. As a matter of fact, it was addressed to you, 
but under the circumstances I’ve taken the liberty of 
opening it.” 

He presented the envelope to Colin, who, after 



288 


THE RED LODGE 


glancing unbelievingly at his own name, pulled out 
and unfolded its contents. 


‘‘3 Albert Terrace, 

“Kensington. 

“My dear Gray, —You will probably be sur¬ 
prised at receiving a letter from me, but you must 
put it down to the whim of a dying man. 

“The truth is, I feel that I owe an apology both 
to you and to Miss Seymour. 

“I will make no attempt to defend my conduct. 
I frankly admit that it justifies practically every 
one of the uncomplimentary epithets which you 
hurled at me in the course of your dramatic visit. 

“The only accusation against which I must enter 
a protest is that either Fenton or I was in any way 
concerned with the murder of my old friend and 
client, the late Professor Carter. On this point 
you are entirely mistaken. It was the work of that 
senseless ruffian Cooper, whom we had employed to 
assist us in breaking into the Red Lodge when we 
found it necessary to examine the Professor’s papers. 
I sincerely hope that this information will be of 
some assistance in bringing him to the gallows. 

“On the charges of embezzlement and conspiracy, 
however, the fact remains that I have rendered my¬ 
self liable to a considerable term of penal servitude. 
It is an unpleasant position, but one which I am 
perfectly prepared to face. Playing for high stakes 
has always had a peculiar attraction for me, and in 
the event of failure I have never been one of those 


THE RED LODGE 289 

poor-spirited sportsmen who object to settling their 
accounts. 

“I doubt if you will believe me, but I should like 
to say in conclusion that as far as you are concerned 
I have no feeling of resentment. On the contrary, 
if you had not been so infernally in my way it would 
have been a distinct pleasure to me to cultivate your 
society. Being of a somewhat complex tempera¬ 
ment, I derive considerable enjoyment from the 
companionship of a crude and vigorous young sav¬ 
age like yourself. 

“I do not know whether you arrived in time to 
rescue Miss Seymour from the embraces of our 
mutual friend, but I have no doubt that you will 
succeed in consoling her for any unpleasant expe¬ 
riences to which she may have been subjected. 
From the little I saw of her she struck me as being 
a singularly attractive and high-spirited young lady. 

“Please convey to her my apologies for the un- 
chivalrous treatment she has received, and also 
express my regret that there should be a shortage of 
some twenty thousand pounds in the money to 
which she is entitled. As the sum which still re¬ 
mains, however, amounts to about a hundred and 
seventy thousand pounds, it will be amply sufficient 
to provide you both with those minor comforts and 
luxuries which form such an agreeable addition even 
to the happiest of married lives. 

“Believe me, my dear Gray, 

“ Your sincere admirer, 
“James Stanhope Medwin.” 


290 


THE RED LODGE 


Colin read through this remarkable communication 
in silence, and, having come to the end, handed it to 
Nancy. 

“It’s just the sort of letter I should have expected 
him to write,” he observed. “The only thing I’m 
surprised at is that he didn’t send us a wedding pres¬ 
ent.” 

“Well, it’s queer your putting it like that,” replied 
the detective. “As a matter of fact, it’s the very 
same remark which I made to the Commissioner. 
There’s a certain type of criminal who doesn’t care 
what happens to him as long as he can die showing 
off and codding himself that he’s a sportsman and a 
gentleman.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” said Nancy, looking up 
from the letter. “I do wish he hadn’t killed himself, 
though. I hate to feel that three people have lost 
their lives and all on account of-” 

“It’s only because you’re not accustomed to it,” 
interrupted Mark comfortingly. “When one’s been 
a doctor for twenty years a trifling massacre like this 
leaves one quite unperturbed.” 

As he spoke Martha Jane appeared with the clean 
glass, and, taking it off the tray, he turned to 
Marsden. 

“How about a drop of champagne, Inspector?” 
he suggested. “There’s nothing like it after a busy 
day, and, besides, you’ve got to drink to the health of 
the happy pair.” 

“I won’t say no to a good offer like that,” returned 
the detective. 



THE RED LODGE 


291 


He accepted the beaker which Mark held out to 
him, and, raising it in his hand, nodded first to Nancy 
and then to Colin. 

“I’ve already congratulated the doctor,” he said. 
“As for you, miss, if you’ll excuse my saying so, I 
think you’ve made as big a success in choosing a hus¬ 
band as you did in choosing a grandfather.” 

He drained his glass to the dregs, and set it down 
on the table with an appreciative smack. 

“I’m sorry to tear myself away from such a 
pleasant party,” he added, “but I’ve got to get back 
to the Yard and complete my report of the case. 
We’re fixing the inquest for the day after to¬ 
morrow.” 

“Shall I have to give evidence?” inquired Nancy 
in some dismay. 

“I’m afraid there’s no getting out of that, miss. 
You and Doctor Gray will be the two principal wit¬ 
nesses, but I shall be seeing the Coroner first, and you 
can take it from me that you won’t be asked more ques¬ 
tions than are absolutely necessary.” He turned to 
Colin. “I should like to see you the first thing in 
the morning, doctor. This case is bound to attract a 
good deal of attention, and there are one or two 
points in connection with it which it will be better if 
we keep to ourselves.” 

“That’s all right,” said Colin calmly. “You tell 
me what you want us to say, and Nancy and I will stick 
to it like Britons.” 

Marsden laughed, and, picking up his cap from the 
table, shook hands all round. 


292 


THE RED LODGE 


“Let me see you as far as the door, Inspector,” 
suggested Mark. “I think I’m just sober enough to 
be able to manage the staircase.” 

He led the way out on the landing, followed 
by the detective, and for the first time since their 
return to the house Colin and Nancy found themselves 
alone. 

He put his arm round her, and, bending down, 
kissed her hair. 

“You mustn’t let all this distress you too much, 
darling,” he said gently. “It’s been a horrible and 
ghastly business, but I do believe it’s ended in the best 
way possible. If these men hadn’t been killed-” 

“I know, Colin,” she said. “I think it’s only a 
sort of selfish feeling I’ve got. I am so happy myself 
I want everyone else to be happy too.” 

“So they are!” declared Colin. “At least, every¬ 
one who matters. There’s you and I and Mark and 

Mary and Joe-” He paused. “By the way, I 

Wonder what’s happened to Joe.” 

“I know what’s going to happen to him,” said 
Nancy. “Directly I get my money I’m going to buy 
him the biggest and most beautiful public house in 

Shadwell. If it wasn’t for Joe-” Her voice 

faltered, and with a sudden impulsive movement she 
caught hold of Colin’s hand and pressed it to her 
cheek. 

For a moment he stood looking down at her, his 
gray eyes alight with love and tenderness. 

“There’s only one thing that isn’t quite perfect,” he 
said slowly. “I’m afraid that, whatever success I 





THE RED LODGE 


293 

meet with in my research work, I’m bound to be more 
or less disappointed.” 

“Oh, Colin, what do you mean?” 

“Why,” he whispered softly, “I’ve already made the 
greatest discovery in the world. I’ve found you ’’ 


THE END 





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